The ringing of Sukuna's phone cut through the sound of metal scraping against metal.
He frowned, wiping the grease from his hands onto an old rag as he stood from beneath the hood of the car he'd been working on all afternoon. His muscles ached, his shirt stained black with oil.
He almost ignored the call.
"...Yeah?"
"Mr. Ryomen?"
"...Speaking."
The voice on the other end was careful.
"Sir... this is the police. We need you to come to St. Mary's Hospital immediately."
His brows knitted together.
"...Why is that?"
pause.
"There has been an accident involving your younger brother."
Everything after that became a blur. The rag fell from his hand. His toolbox remained open. The garage door was left half raised. He didn't remember grabbing his keys. He didn't remember locking the house. He only remembered driving.
Red lights. Horns. People yelling as his car sped through traffic.
His hands squeezed the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.
No.
No, his brother couldn't be-
He gritted his teeth harder.
Don't think.
Just drive.
The hospital appeared before him like a nightmare.
He barely parked.
The receptionist had barely finished giving him the room number before he was already running.
His heavy footsteps echoed through the hallways.
Fourth floor.
Room 412.
He stopped.
His feet refused to move another inch.
The door stood a few steps away.
Outside it...
Someone was crying. Hard
The kind that came from somewhere deep inside a person's soul.
Broken
Hopeless
A young woman sat on a chair beside the office door, her face buried in her hands as sobs wracked her body.
He didn't recognize her .
He couldn't think.
Couldn't breathe.
Couldn't...
He slowly reached for the handle.
The room wasn't a hospital room.
It was an office.
Two empty chairs.
A desk.
Silence.
Sukuna remained standing.
His eyes never left the floor.
Minutes passed.
Or maybe seconds.
He couldn't tell anymore.
Then the door opened.
A doctor entered.
Behind him...
The same girl stumbled inside, wiping at tears that refused to stop.
She looked barely able to stand.
Before the doctor could even sit...
"Are they going to be alright?"
Her voice cracked.
Hope, desperatio, fear.
It all mixed together into one heartbreaking question.
The doctor froze.
He looked at his papers.
Not at her. Never at her.
Sukuna noticed.
He already knew.
Doctors only avoided eye contact when they had bad news.
His stomach twisted.
"...I'm deeply sorry."
The room became painfully quiet.
"The couple were involved in a severe traffic collision."
Another pause.
"We did everything we could."
"...But they didn't survive."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Sukuna stared at the floor.
He didn't move.
Didn't blink.
It was almost as if a part of him had expected those exact words the moment the phone rang.
His chest felt...
Empty.
Not pain.
Not yet.
Just...
Nothing.
Beside him-
"What...?"
The girl whispered.
"No..."
She laughed.
A shaky, broken laugh.
"No, there has to be a mistake."
She stood so quickly the chair scraped loudly across the floor.
"Maybe you are talking about someone else?."
Her breathing became uneven.
"See..they don't even drive on that road."
She looked at the doctor desperately.
"You mixed them up."
"You have the wrong people."
She smiled through tears.
A smile filled with denial.
"...Can I talk to her?"
The doctor slowly shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Miss_"
His voice softened.
"She passed away."
The smile disappeared.
The strength left her legs.
She collapsed back into the chair.
Then she cried.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just...
Completely.
Like someone whose entire world had been ripped away in a single sentence.
Sukuna still hadn't moved.
His head remained lowered.
His brother.
The annoying idiot who always called him when he needed help fixing something.
The man who laughed too loudly.
Who insisted family dinners mattered and that sukuna had to be there.
Who believed Sukuna wasn't as cold as everyone thought.
Gone.
His sister-in-law.
The woman who somehow treated Sukuna like family from the first day she'd met him.
Who always packed him extra food when they visited. Who smiled even when Sukuna never smiled back.
Gone.
His jaw clenched.
His breathing became heavier.
Then-
It hit him.
His eyes snapped upward.
"...They had a little boy."
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
"Where is he?"
The girl's head shot up.
Her eyes widened in horror.
"Oh my God..."
"Yuji."
She stood again.
"Oh my God—"
She grabbed the edge of the desk.
"Please..."
Her voice broke.
"Please don't tell me he's..."
The doctor immediately answered.
"No."
Both adults looked at him.
"The boy is alive."
The girl collapsed into the chair again.
A sob escaped her lips.
She covered her face.
"Thank God..."
Sukuna swallowed.
"...Is he hurt?"
"No."
The doctor looked at the file.
"He was secured in the back seat."
"Physically, he has no injuries."
Sukuna finally allowed himself one slow breath.
The first one he'd taken since arriving.
"He appears to have lost consciousness during the collision."
The doctor continued quietly.
"We have him speaking with one of our child psychologists."
"We need to determine whether he witnessed anything traumatic."
Sukuna nodded once.
"...Good."
He stood.
"I'm going to get him."
He barely took a step before the doctor spoke again.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Ryomen."
Sukuna stopped.
"There are legal procedures."
His shoulders stiffened.
"Your brother and his wife left a will."
"We're contacting everyone named in it."
"There are custody protocols we must follow before releasing the child."
Sukuna stared at him.
Every second spent talking felt like another second Yuji was alone.
He wanted to go to him.
Now.
The doctor continued.
"Until everything is verified..."
"We cannot release him."
Sukuna closed his eyes.
He inhaled slowly.
Then nodded.
"...Fine."
His voice was hollow.
He didn't care what papers needed signing.
Didn't care who was listed.
Didn't care what the law said.
Even if Yuji ended up in temporary care...
Even if he was sent to an orphanage...
It wouldn't matter.
He'd find him.
He'd bring him home.
Because his little brother wasn't here anymore.
And Sukuna refused to let the last piece of him disappear too.
Outside the office, the hallway was unbearably quiet.
Inside, three people sat drowning in the same grief.
One had lost her best friend.
One had lost his little brother.
And somewhere else in the hospital...
A little boy still didn't know that the last time he had seen his parents...
...had truly been the last.
The room was painfully quiet.
Not the comforting kind.
The kind that pressed against your ears until it became unbearable.
A rectangular wooden table divided the room.
Three chairs.
Three people.
Sukuna sat on one side, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped tightly together. His eyes never left the floor.
Across from him sat Y/N.
Her face was swollen from crying.
Her eyes were red.
Yet somehow...
She had stopped crying.
Not because she was okay.
Because she had cried until there was nothing left.
Between them sat the lawyer.
He adjusted the stack of documents in front of him before speaking.
"I'd first like to offer my condolences."
Neither of them answered.
The lawyer nodded once, understanding.
"I'll begin reading Mr. Jin's itadori final will, we wait for ms. Itadoris to arrive"
The sound of paper turning echoed through the room.
"Mr. Jin itadori leaves all financial assets, savings, investments, and property to his son, Yuji itadori."
Neither of them reacted.
"The inheritance will remain in trust until Yuji reaches the age of eighteen."
Another page.
"A separate amount has been designated to Mr. Itadoris brother..."
His eyes lifted briefly.
"...Mr. Sukuna Ryomen itadori."
Sukuna didn't move.
Money.
His brother could have left him every yen he owned.
It wouldn't bring him back.
It wouldn't bring Kaori back.
The lawyer continued.
"Now..."
He adjusted his glasses.
"Regarding the custody of Yuji itadori."
For the first time...
Sukuna looked up.
The lawyer read carefully.
"'Should anything happen to both myself and my wife, I appoint my brother, Sukuna Ryomen itadori, as legal guardian of my son until he reaches adulthood.'"
Silence.
Sukuna closed his eyes.
A tiny breath escaped him.
His brother...
Had trusted him.
Despite everything.
Despite the distance between them.
Despite Sukuna believing he wasn't made to raise children.
Jin had chosen him.
Because he knew...
No one would protect Yuji more fiercely.
Then-
A knock.
Everyone looked toward the door.
A man in a dark suit stepped inside.
"I'm sorry for interrupting."
He leaned toward the lawyer, whispering something too quietly to hear.
Then he slid another sealed document across the desk.
The lawyer frowned.
He examined the seal.
Opened it.
Read the first lines.
His expression changed.
"I see..."
The messenger quietly excused himself.
The room fell silent again.
The lawyer looked between Sukuna and Y/N.
"It appears..."
He hesitated.
"...Mrs. Kaori Ryomen also left an individual will... I'm just gonna go ahead and read it out loud for you ..."
Sukuna frowned.
"...Read it."
The lawyer nodded.
He unfolded the document.
"'I leave all personal assets, savings, and possessions to my son, Yuji itadori.'"
Nothing unusual.
Then-
"'Regarding Yuji's guardianship...'"
The lawyer's voice slowed.
"'Should anything happen to me and Jin...'"
Y/N's fingers slowly curled into her sleeves.
"'...I entrust the care, upbringing, and legal guardianship of my son to my closest friend'"
The lawyer looked up.
"...Miss_."
Everything stopped.
You froze.
Sukuna froze.
The room became impossibly still.
Sukuna slowly turned his head toward her for the first time.
She...
Was the person Kaori had chosen?
The lawyer placed both documents beside each other.
"The issue..."
He sighed quietly.
"...is that both wills appear to have been signed on the same date."
Sukuna frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"It means..."
The lawyer chose his words carefully.
"We cannot determine which document was written last."
"It is entirely possible Mrs. Itadoris later changed her mind..."
He tapped Kaori's will.
"...or that Mr. Itadori never knew she drafted this."
"There is no evidence provingeither scenario."
Sukuna stared at the papers.
His head already hurt.
"So which one counts?"
"Legally?"
The lawyer folded his hands.
"Neither has priority at this moment."
Another painful silence.
"Until the matter is resolved..."
He looked at both of them.
"...custody will be shared."
Sukuna's jaw tightened.
"Unless..."
The lawyer continued.
"...one guardian voluntarily relinquishes their rights."
"No."
The answer came immediately.
Firm, cold, Certain.
Sukuna hadn't even allowed the lawyer to finish speaking.
He didn't even glance toward Y/N.
There wasn't a universe where he would let Yuji go.
Not after today.
Not after losing Jin.
Not after promising himself-
He would protect the only family he had left.
He expected the woman beside him to agree.
To say she wasn't family.
To admit she'd only been Kaori's friend.
To leave Yuji with his uncle.
Instead...
Y/N spoke quietly.
"...I'd like to keep him."
Sukuna slowly turned.
His eyes met hers.
For the first time...
Anger cut through the grief.
Not loud.
Not explosive.
Just...
Hot.
Raw.
Painful.
She still wasn't looking at him.
Her hands rested tightly in her lap.
Her voice barely above a whisper.
"But..."
She swallowed.
"If Kaori trusted me with her son..."
Her lips trembled.
"...I can't ignore her last wish."
Sukuna stared.
Who was she?
What right did she have?
He had just buried his brother in his mind.
He hadn't even seen the body yet.
All he wanted...
Was to take Yuji home.
To make sure the little boy wasn't alone tonight.
And now...
A stranger was standing between him and that.
His voice came out low.
Controlled.
"What can I do..."
He looked only at the lawyer.
"...to receive full custody?"
The lawyer remained calm.
"I'm afraid nothing immediately."
"There will likely be an investigation."
"We'll need witnesses."
"Dates."
"Verification."
"Perhaps handwriting experts."
"It could take time."
"Months."
Maybe longer.
Sukuna's fingers dug into his palms.
"I don't have months."
The lawyer looked at Y/N.
"The only immediate alternative..."
"...is if Miss Y/N voluntarily surrenders her custodial rights."
Sukuna finally looked at her.
Really looked.
His eyes were bloodshot.
Exhausted.
Red from holding back tears he'd never allow to fall.
There was no hatred in them.
Only desperation.
A silent plea buried beneath pride.
Please.
He's all I have left.
Y/N felt his stare.
It made her chest tighten.
She finally forced herself to look at him.
He looked...
Broken.
Not angry.
Broken.
For a split second...
She almost said yes.
Almost.
Then Kaori's voice echoed inside her head.
"If anything ever happens to us..."
"Promise me you won't let Yuji feel alone."
"Promise me you'll protect my baby."
She had laughed back then.
Told Kaori to stop saying such ridiculous things.
Kaori had smiled anyway.
"Just promise me."
Y/N had promised.
A promise made over coffee.
A promise neither of them believed would ever matter.
Until today.
She slowly looked away from Sukuna.
Back toward the lawyer.
"...No."
The word was barely audible.
"I would like to keep him."
Her hands trembled under the table.
"If Kaori trusted me..."
She closed her eyes.
"...then I have to honor that."
Silence.
Sukuna leaned back.
His eyes closed.
He inhaled deeply through his nose.
Slowly.
Painfully.
He stayed like that for several seconds.
Because if he opened his mouth now...
He wasn't sure what would come out.
Anger.
Grief.
Or the desperate cry of an older brother who had just lost everything in a single afternoon.
The lawyer quietly gathered the papers.
Neither guardian noticed.
Neither cared.
Somewhere else in the hospital...
A three year old little boy sat coloring with a child psychologist.
Completely unaware...
That the two people now fighting to bring him home...
Were both trying to keep the same promise.
The last promise they had ever made...
To his parents.
The lawyer had barely finished organizing the documents when another gentle knock came from the door.
"Come in."
The child psychologist stepped inside.
Behind her stood a tiny boy with messy pink hair.
He clutched a drawing in one hand, a handful of crayons in the other.
His big brown eyes wandered around the unfamiliar room.
He looked confused.
Curious.
Still completely unaware that his entire world had ended only a few hours ago.
Then...
His eyes landed on Sukuna.
They lit up.
"UNCLE KUNAAA!"
His little legs immediately carried him across the room.
The drawing slipped from his hand as he ran.
No hesitation.
No fear.
Just relief.
A familiar face.
Finally.
Sukuna stood instinctively.
Before anyone realized it, Yuji had thrown himself against his legs.
Tiny arms wrapped around him as tightly as they could.
"Uncle Kuna!"
Sukuna bent down without thinking.
One arm slid beneath the little boy, lifting him effortlessly into his chest as though he weighed nothing.
Yuji immediately buried his face against his shoulder.
At thirty-eight years old, you had your life together.
Or at least... that's what everyone believed.
Every morning, you walked into the office dressed like you owned the building. Tailored blazers. Pencil skirts. Crisp heels that clicked against marble floors with military precision. Your coworkers practically stood straighter when you passed.
"Good morning, ma'am."
"Could you look over this file?"
"What would we do without you?"
The answer?
Probably panic.
Because somehow every problem landed on your desk.
Deadlines.Meetings. Budgets.
Three departments that couldn't function without your approval.
By noon, you'd already solved five disasters and prevented another three.
It was exhausting.
Then there were your parents.
They lived only ten minutes away in the little house you'd insisted they move into after retirement. They were getting older now. Every week it was another doctor's appointment. Another prescription to organize. Another reminder to take their medicine.
"Mom, you already took that pill."
"No, I didn't."
"...You did. I watched you."
"Oh."
"..."
"...Can I have another?"
"No."
Being the responsible daughter never stopped.
Being the responsible employee never stopped.
Being the responsible adult...
Never stopped.
Everyone respected you.
You drove a good car
You wore good enough clothes.
You had some savings.
You had a respectable reputation.
Everything about you screamed professional.
Everything.
Except...
There was one tiny detail.
One microscopic, life-ending, reputation-destroying little secret.
You weren't exactly..
Dating someone?
No.
It wasn't dating.
There were no anniversaries
No flowers
No matching profile pictures.
No "Good morning, sweetheart."
It was simply...
An arrangement.
Strictly physical.
Stress relief.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
And the person involved...
...was twenty one year old Satoru Gojo.
Yes.
That Satoru Gojo.
The university student.
The billionaire heir.
The son of the big Gojo family.
His father was the CEO of one of the largest corporations in the country, and one day Satoru would inherit all of it.
Everyone knew his name.
Which somehow made your situation infinitely worse.
Sometimes, while staring at the ceiling after another twelve hour workday, you'd wonder where your life had gone wrong.
Most women your age dreamed of marrying a wealthy CEO.
You...
Were secretly involved with the CEO's son.
Fantastic
No one could ever find out.
Absolutely no one.
If word got around the office?
You'd never hear the end of it.
But most importantly
Your reputation?
Gone.
So the rules were simple.
He came over whenever you called. And once you were done with him
He left.
Just like that
No romance.
No feelings.
No relationship.
No exceptions.
You had made that painfully clear.
Surprisingly...
Satoru had agreed.
Mostly because he'd been trying to win you over since the day you first met.
The day he saw you in that gym flashing that movie star smile and somehow managed to flirt while asking for directions.
You'd stared at him for exactly three seconds before saying,
"You're annoying."
His grin had somehow gotten wider.
"I'll take that as progress."
..
You had rejected him about six times.. he never gave up.
He was ridiculous.
Infuriatingly handsome.
Hopelessly spoiled.
And also
The exactly opposite of your type.
You always liked older men.
Men with a good job,
Well mannered.
And also a good salary if you had to be honest.
But a university student?
Absolutely not.
You didn't even like him.
Satoru, meanwhile, was the complete opposite.
Golden retriever energy in human form.
The kind of person who made friends in the elevator.
Who remembered everyone's birthday.
Who laughed so loudly strangers laughed with him.
He excelled at everything.
Basketball.
Swimming.
Tennis.
If there was a sport, he'd somehow won a trophy in it.
He played the piano.
The violin.
He spoke multiple languages.
His parents had spent years preparing him to inherit the family empire.
What they didn't know...
Was that he'd also become the king of university parties.
Or...
He used to be.
Nowadays his friends barely saw him.
"No party tonight?"
"Nah."
"You sick?"
"Nope."
"...Did you get a girlfriend?" Suguru would ask with a raised eyebrow.
Satoru nearly choked on his drink every single time.
"No."
That wasn't technically a lie.
Because whatever existed between you...
Definitely wasn't dating.
He kept your secret exactly as promised.
What he didn't realize...
Was that he'd already broken a part of the deal.
Without even noticing.
He'd fallen in love.
Completely.
Hopelessly.
Every rare smile you accidentally gave him became his favorite memory.
Every sarcastic remark from you somehow sounded affectionate in his ears.
Every minute you allowed him into your busy life felt like a miracle.
He could already picture a future with you.
A home.
Lazy Sunday mornings.
Arguments over groceries.
Growing old together.
He wanted all of it.
But he would never say a word.
Because he knew the moment you realized he had feelings...
You'd disappear.
And he'd rather keep pretending this arrangement was enough...
Than lose you forever.
As for you?
You rolled your eyes every time he smiled too much.
Called him a spoiled brat.
Complained that he talked too loudly.
Rejected every expensive gift he would buy for you.
Scolded him like he was still a teenager.
Yet somehow...
Whenever life became just a little too heavy...
Whenever the pressure threatened to crush you...
Whenever the entire world rested on your shoulders...
Your phone always ended up dialing the same number.
Rain hammered relentlessly against the windows, thunder rumbling somewhere in the distance.
The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
You were fast asleep upstairs, wrapped safely beneath warm blankets, completely unaware of the storm brewing downstairs.
Satoru sat comfortably on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, lazily watching some late-night show while absentmindedly eating a cupcake he'd stolen from the kitchen.
Just another peaceful night.
Or so he thought.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Megumi, now sixteen, walked into the living room with his hoodie already on, patting his pockets before searching the key bowl by the front door.
"I'm taking the car. I'm going to Yuji's."
Satoru didn't even look away from the television.
"Not tonight."
His voice was calm.
Gentle.
Matter-of-fact.
Megumi frowned.
"It's literally five minutes away. I'm just going to Yuji's."
"No."
Still calm.
Still eating.
"I took the car yesterday!"
"Yesterday wasn't pouring rain."
"It's his birthday!"
"You can celebrate tomorrow."
Megumi's patience snapped.
"ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING?!"
His voice echoed through the house.
"He wants me there tonight! Me and Kugisaki! Not whenever it's convenient for you!"
Satoru finally sighed.
"I'm sure Kugisaki's parents aren't letting her out in this weather either."
He reached for the remote.
"And lower your voice."
His tone never changed.
"Your mom and sister are sleeping."
That only fueled Megumi's frustration.
"STOP TELLING ME WHAT TO DO!"
He slammed his hand against the table.
"I'M NOT A LITTLE KID ANYMORE!"
Satoru muted the television.
The room suddenly became painfully silent except for the rain outside.
He turned toward Megumi. Really looked at him. His blue eyes weren't angry. They weren't annoyed. Just tired.
"...Megumi."
The boy's chest rose and fell rapidly.
"I said no."
Nothing more.
No lecture.
No argument.
Just final
That somehow made it worse.
Megumi's emotions exploded before his brain could stop them.
"YOU DON'T GET TO TELL ME NO!"
His voice cracked.
"YOU'RE NOT MY DAD! SO STOP ACTING LIKE YOU ARE!"
....
Silence.
The words seemed to hang in the air.
Even the rain outside felt quieter
Megumi's heart stopped.
No.
No, no, no...
He hadn't meant to-
He watched Satoru.
Waiting. Begging for him to yell , get angry, tell him to take it back, tell him he was grounded.
Anything.
Satoru simply stared at him.
For just a second.
A single second that somehow lasted forever.
Something inside those bright blue eyes...
Broke.
Not dramatically nor loudly
Just...
Shattered.
He looked down for a moment, swallowing once before speaking.
"...You're right."
His voice was barely above aa whisper.
"I'm not."
No sarcasm.
No bitterness. Just acceptance.
He stood up.
Walked past Megumi without brushing his shoulder.
Without looking at him again.
"Goodnight."
That was it.
No slammed doors.
No raised voice.
Nothing
On his way upstairs, he noticed the car keys sitting on the kitchen counter.
Without a word, he quietly slipped them into his pocket before disappearing toward the bedroom.
The front door never opened.
Megumi remained frozen in the middle of the living room.
The silence became unbearable.
"...I'm..."
His voice came out broken.
"...I'm such an idiot."
He covered his face with both hands.
"What the hell is wrong with me...?"
His chest tightened so painfully it felt hard to breathe.
He had just called the man who had spent half his life loving him...
A stranger.
His mind flooded with memories all at once.
Not his biological father.
Satoru.
Tiny hands struggling with shoelaces.
"Here... bunny ears first."
Patient fingers guiding his little ones until he finally got it right.
The loud cheering afterward as if he'd won an Olympic medal.
...
Scraped knees after falling off his bike.
He remembered crying.
Remembered wanting his mom.
But it had been Satoru who came running.
Scooping him into his arms.
Cleaning every scrape while making ridiculous jokes until Megumi laughed through his tears.
Then kissing the top of his head.
"There."
"My brave boy."
...
Bedtime stories.
Every single night.
Even after exhausting workdayss.
Even when Satoru could barely keep his own eyes open.
He'd still sit beside his bed, making silly voices for every character because Megumi giggled every time
...
School projects, math homework, Science fairs. Satoru never understood half the assignments.
But he'd stay awake until two in the morning learning them first..
Just so he could teach Megumi the next day.
...
The first time he rode a bike.
Satoru running behind him.
One hand secretly holding the seat
The other stretched out, ready to catch him if he fell
"I've got you."
"I won't let go."
He had.
But only because he'd known Megumi could do it.
...
His first shave. His first driving lesson. His first heartbreak.
The room was dark except for the faint glow of the nightlight plugged into the wall. The blanket was tangled around everyone's legs. As usual.
Toji was taking up about seventy percent of the bed despite claiming every single night that he was "barely moving."
You were squished against the edge, one wrong breath away from falling onto the floor. And little Megumi was trapped in the middle. Your husband was fast asleep. Completely unconscious. Dead to the world. The man could probably sleep through a natural disaster.
Unfortunately for everyone else, Toji's sleeping habits were questionable at first. Unbearable as time passed.
He was sleep taking and moving a lot but the worst thing? His snoring.
A deep inhale echoed through the room.
Then-
"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH..."
The walls practically vibrated. You didn't even open your eyes. Years of experience. You simply adjusted your pillow. Another loud snore followed. Then another.
Then-
"Mmph..."
Your eyes opened.
Slowly.
You turned your head. Megumi was awake.
Again.
The poor little boy sat there with messy black hair sticking in every direction. His blanket was twisted around his tiny legs. His eyes were half closed with exhaustion. But they were also fixed directly on his father.
Watching and judging. The look on his tiny face was honestly hilarious. Like he was trying to understand what kind of creature was making those noises.
"It's okay, baby."
You brushed some hair from his forehead.
"Daddy's just sleeping loud."
Megumi blinked.
The next snore rattled through the room. His tiny eyebrows lowered. Clearly unconvinced. You gently guided his head back onto the pillow.
"Go back to sleep."
He sighed dramatically for a two year old. Then closed his eyes. Peace.
For exactly three seconds.
Then
PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFT.
A long.
Loud.
Absolutely shameless fart escaped from your sleeping husband.
You didn't even move to used to your husband.
Silence followed.
You slowly opened your eyes. Megumi's eyes opened at the exact same moment.
The toddler stared.
Toji continued sleeping peacefully.
As if he hadn't just committed a crime against humanity and definitely against his son.
Megumi looked at you.
Then back at Toji.
Then back at you.
You could practically see his little brain processing events. And then—
Pfff.
Another one.
Not as loud.
But somehow more offensive.
Megumi sat up. You immediately knew that look.
Oh no.
The tiny hand lifted.
Slowly.
Purposefully.
Like a warrior preparing for battle.
"Megumi NO-"
SMACK.
His little palm hit Toji directly on the side of the head.
Not hard. But definitely enough. Toji shot upright.
"THE HELL WAS THAT?!"
You nearly choked trying not to laugh. Toji grabbed his face dramatically.
"What hit me?!"
His eyes landed on Megumi.Megumi was staring back. Expressionless. Not a shred of regret. Toji pointed.
"The brat hit me!"
You covered your mouth.
"No he didn't."
"He DID!"
"He barely touched you."
"He assaulted me in my sleep!"
Megumi blinked. Toji looked offended.
Actually offended.
Like he'd just been betrayed.
"You snored loud again."
You rubbed your eyes.
Toji scoffed.
"It's because I'm tired."
"You slept twelve hours yesterday."
"I WORK."
He pointed dramatically at himself.
"I work all day."
Another point.
"To feed you."
Another point.
"And that brat who just punched me."
Megumi frowned.
Toji narrowed his eyes.
The toddler narrowed his eyes right back. You immediately buried your face in your pillow because you were about to lose it. The two of them looked exactly alike. It was ridiculous.
"okay ho back to sleep." You sighed.
"You too, Megumi."
Toji flopped dramatically onto the mattress.
"That's what I get."
Silence.
"For taking care of that brat."
More silence.
"I raise him."
Pause.
"He attacks me."
Pause.
"No respect."
You laughed.
"Go to sleep."
"How am I supposed to sleep now?"
"Close your eyes."
Toji grumbled something unintelligible.
Then rolled over.
Three seconds later-
He was asleep again. Like somebody had unplugged him. You stared.
Unbelievable.
Absolutely unbelievable.
You carefully lifted Megumi from the middle and tucked him against your chest instead. Maybe being farther away from Toji would help.
Your son immediately curled into your side.
Tiny hands grabbing your shirt. Warm little cheeks pressing against you. Your heart melted.
"There we go."
You kissed his forehead.
"Sleep with mommy."
Megumi nodded sleepily.
His eyes began to droop. His breathing slowed.
Success.
Then—
RRRRRRRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHHHHH.
The snoring returned.
Louder somehow. You didn't even react. Years of training. But Megumi did.
His little head slowly lifted from your chest.
Like a meerkat. His eyes narrowed.
The tiny hand lifted again.
Aiming directly at Toji.
You immediately grabbed his wrist.
"No."
Megumi looked at you.
"No hitting daddy."
The tiny finger pointed toward Toji. Another snore exploded through the room. Megumi looked scandalized. Like he was saying then make him stop. You bit your lip.
"He's sleeping."
Megumi pointed again.
The snore continued.
Point
Snore.
Point
Snore.
The argument continued entirely without words. Finally Megumi huffed.
Actually huffed.
Then dramatically buried his face into your chest. You nearly laughed.
"There you go."
You rubbed his back.
"Good boy."
A tiny grumble escaped him. Clearly unhappy with the outcome. But he stayed put. Minutes passed. His breathing grew slower. Softer. Eventually he fell asleep.
At last.
You smiled.
Your sweet little boy looked adorable sleeping against you.
You’re sitting on a park bench, letting your 14 month old son, Yuji, explore the sandpit with his little toys. He’s a big boy, chubby thighs, pudgy cheeks, and already standing tall among the toddlers. You can’t help yourself, sneaking little squeezes and kisses into his rolls, even though picking him up lately feels like you’re trying to hoist a small sack of flour.
Nearby, an elderly lady is sitting on her own bench, tossing bread crumbs to the pigeons while watching the kids. She squints at Yuji, tilts her head, and asks, “Which one is yours?”
You point at him just as he wobbles up, trying his best to walk. Inevitably, he topples onto his bottom, laughing so hard he snorts a little.
“Awww, what a cute toddler!” she gushes.
“Thank you,” you say, smiling.
“How old is he?” she asks.
“Just turned 14 months,” you reply, still smiling.
The old lady freezes. Her eyes widen as if you’ve just told her such shocking news.
Before you can recover, a mom sitting nearby pipes up, shocked, “No way! He’s just 14 months?”
You laugh, shrugging. “Yep. Just turned 14”
“How is he that big?” another mom asks incredulously. “What do you feed him?”
You chuckle again, looking at Yuji who is busy looking at his soft tummy and shoes all of the sudden. “It’s just genetics.”
Then, another mom joins in, holding her four year old daughter on her lap. “My daughter is four, and she’s the same height as him!” she says, wide eyed. You glance over and oh wow—her preschooler is practically eye level with Yuji. You even notice Yuji might be a little heavier than her daughter.
Before you can respond, the first mom leans closer, worried but mostly judging. “Maybe you should check him. A doctor should see him. He’s… too big. It’s unhealthy!”
You try to laugh it off, but the mothers continue their discussion, judging and debating like a panel of baby nutrition experts. Some genuinely look concerned, others are just shocked that a 14 month old could be so robust. You internally roll your eyes. Yuji is simply a hungry little guy, thriving on nine bottles of milk a day plus meals and snacks.
Just as the conversation reaches peak chaos, a deep, confident voice cuts through the park chatter.
“My boy.”
You turn, and there he is: Sukuna, your 7 foot tall, muscular, tan-skinned husband, walking towards you in the park with hands casually in his pockets. The park seems to shrink around him.
Yuji, seeing his dad, clumsily runs into Sukuna’s arms, giggling uncontrollably. Sukuna scoops him up effortlessly with one arm, like he’s holding a feather.
And suddenly… Yuji looks like exactly what he is: your normal 14 month old baby. No one dares argue. The mothers turn away, sheepish, their earlier shock melting into embarrassed silence. You can’t help but laugh at their cold, jealous faces.
Sukuna walks up, gently handing Yuji to you, and says, “Let’s go home, ma.”
“Not yet,” you say, sitting back on the bench and motioning for Yuji to play a little longer.
The old lady watches him, nodding knowingly now. “Ah, now it makes sense,” she says with a laugh.
Sukuna glances at her, eyebrow raised in confusion, but Yuji is already back in the sandpit, kicking up sand and squealing with joy. Sukuna joins his son's little game.
You watch them, heart full, as Yuji tries to stack a bucket of sand and promptly knocks it over, sand flying everywhere. Sukuna’s laughter rumbles like distant thunder, squeezing Yuji’s fat cheeks one more time.
When the Avatar and the General of the united forces fall in love, they must hide their feelings behind the shadows of global politics. But when the call of duty forces them to opposite sides of the world, one to save the planet, the other to rule the Fire Nation, does the weight of their titles finally tears them apart?
( Both mid 20', Forbidden Love, Duty vs. Desire, Secret Romance, Separation/Angst, Happy Ending?)
Morning dew still clung to the petals of the fire lilies, making them glisten like tiny flames caught in crystal. The warm sun had only just begun to climb over the palace roofs, and for once the courtyards were quiet, no ministers chasing servants, no guards changing shifts with too much armor clanking, no tutors shouting bending forms.
Just you. Your flowers and your watering can. And ten blissful minutes of peace.
You bent to pinch away a yellowing leaf, smiling to yourself. This little patch of earth had become your sanctuary over the years.
No royal titles here, no Fire Lady speeches, no “Your Majesty.”
Just soil under your nails and flowers that demanded patience.
A rare thing in this palace.
You had just begun humming softly when-
“Mommyyyyy!”
The shriek ripped through the garden like a battle horn.
You closed your eyes.
There goes the peace.
A second later came the frantic thunder of tiny feet slapping against stone.
You turned just in time to see Iroh Jr. barreling toward you like a launched cannonball, hair sticking out in six different directions, slippers half on, clutching a stack of papers to his chest with the intensity of a messenger hawk carrying state secrets.
“Woah-!”
He collided with your knees.
You dropped the watering can into the grass and scooped him up before momentum took you both down.
“What is this emergency, little dragon?” you asked, adjusting him on your hip.
Iroh gasped dramatically.
“It’s business, Mom. Big business. Very serious business.”
His eyes were wide with such sincerity that you had to bite your lip not to laugh.
“Oh? Shall I summon the council?”
“No time mommy!” he cried, grabbing your hand. “Come now!”
Before you could protest, he was dragging you through the palace corridors, nearly dislocating your shoulder in his urgency.
“Iroh, slow down!”
“We can’t! Deadlines!”
He said, his voice and tone imitating his father's.
You laughed despite yourself and allowed yourself to be towed all the way to Zuko’s study.
The room still smelled faintly of sandalwood, warm parchment, and your husband.
He had only left for Republic City yesterday for a summit with Aang, but somehow his absence was already stamped all over the place: the untouched tea cup on the side table, the stacked council scrolls, the ridiculous mountain of documents he had sworn he finished.
Liar.
Iroh shoved the heavy study door closed behind you with both hands.
Then pointed dramatically at the desk.
“We work.”
You blinked.
“Oh, do we?”
“Yes.”
He marched to the oversized mahogany chair and patted it.
“Sit Mommy.”
You obeyed, lowering yourself into Zuko’s chair.
It swallowed you whole.
Iroh immediately scrambled into your lap like a tiny demanding supervisor and reached for the expensive cream colored parchment stacked neatly in the corner.
“Baby-no, no, no-”
You caught his wrist just in time.
“That’s Daddy’s important paperwork.”
Iroh turned to you with an expression so solemn it belonged on a general before war.
“Dad said I can use these for important business, the papers on this side are fir me, daddy's words I promise.”
You narrowed your eyes suspiciously.
“He did?”
“Yes. He said I’m his Chief Assistant, if he is missing I'm in charge!”
You snorted.
That sounded exactly like something Zuko would say to get his son to stop stealing ink brushes during council.
You lifted the top page.
Blank.
Very expensive, gold embossed blank parchment.
Of course.
You sighed in mock resignation.
“Alright, Chief Assistant. What urgent state matter requires our attention?”
Iroh leaned in and whispered:
“I made a drawing.”
He glanced at the walls.
Then whispered louder.
“And now I have to write a letter to go with it.”
You had just smoothed the parchment onto the desk when the study door creaked open.
There stood Zumi.
Arms crossed. Skirt immaculate.
Tiny face set in a look so severe it was honestly offensive coming from a four yearold.
She looked exactly like Zuko when he was about to reject a tax proposal.
“Where is Dad?” she demanded.
You leaned back in the chair.
“He’s in Republic City, sweetheart. He’ll be back in a few days.”
Zumi sighed with the melodrama of a woman whose husband had gone to war.
“Wonderful.”
You bit back a smile.
“Did you need him for something?”
“Yes,” she said sharply. “I need to make a report to Father.”
You exchanged a glance with Iroh.
“Oh?”
“A maid left a pinch in my skirt while helping me dress this morning.”
You nodded.
“Uh huh.”
“I want her out.”
You blinked.
“Out?”
“Dismissed,” Zumi clarified, with a little royal flick of the wrist. “Immediately.”
You stared at her.
Iroh stared at her.
Somewhere in the spirit world, Ozai probably sneezed.
“Zumi,” you said carefully, “Ms. Lee is seventy.”
“She pinched my skirt.”
“It was an accident.”
“It could have pinched me!”
“Did it?”
“No! That’s why I said could!”
She rolled her eyes so hard you nearly laughed.
Definitely picked that up from Toph last time she visited.
You rubbed your forehead.
“I will speak to Ms. Lee about being careful with your royal skirts.”
“Good.”
“But no one is being dismissed.”
Zumi huffed like this was a failure of governance.
Then her eyes landed on the parchment.
You saw the interest immediately.
Ah.
There it is
You smiled.
“We are writing letters.”
“Why would I want to write stupid letters?” she scoffed.
But she took one step into the room.
Then another.
"Don’t you want to say hi to someone?"
"Write to Uncle!" Iroh chirped. "He said next month he takes us to The Jasmine Dragon and maybe fishing and maybe turtleduck racing and maybe tea and maybe-”
“Tea?” Zumi deadpanned. “You are excited to watch Dad’s stinky uncle boil leaves?”
You inhaled.
Slowly.
“I beg your pardon?”
Iroh gasped dramatically.
“She insulted Uncle!”
Zumi shrugged. “He smells like old people.”
You pointed a warning finger.
“Watch your tone young lady. This is your great uncle that you are talking about and you will refer to him with respect”
Zumi made a face.
You stood, walked over, and without ceremony scooped her up despite her immediate stiff indignation.
“Mother-!”
“Nope.”
You returned to the chair and settled back down with one child on each lap.
Iroh on the right.
Zumi on the left.Both squished.Both mildly outraged.
Perfect
“This chair is too small,” Zumi complained.
“This chair is enormous,” you replied.
“For one person.”
“Well, today it holds me and my two royal correspondents.”
“Can you give your sister a page, Iroh?”
“No,” he said instantly, hugging the stack. “Dad said only I’m his helper, so only I can have them.”
You raised a brow.
“And what does Mom say?”
Iroh hesitated.
Your brow rose higher.
He groaned like a doomed man.
“Mom says share…”
“Correct.”
He peeled one sheet off with all the agony of surrendering national treasure.
“Sorry, Zumi.”
Zumi snatched it.
“What do we say?”
“…thanks,” she muttered.
Progress.
You dipped both brushes in ink.
“Alright. Who is going first?”
“ME!” iroh said excited.
“Okay iroh first”
“YES!” He said way to excited for just a simple letter.
"Are you going to try on you own first?"
"Yes! I can do it."
He leaned over the desk so hard you had to grab the back of his tunic to keep him from face planting into the parchment.
His tongue stuck out.
His eyebrows nearly touched.
He wrote each character with the determination of someone carving laws into stone.Ink blobs formed.
One character was sideways. Another looked like a caricature. Finally he slapped the brush down.
“DONE!”
He shoved the paper in your face.
...
Hi unkle iroh
Its me. I want to ask when are you coming hiar again. Dad is with unkl ang. When you com bring toys from ba sing se. Mom say now to say pleas. Pleas bring toys. When you com we wil go fishing and get big fises. Come soon.
Princ Iroh
(a deeply concerning fish drawing followed by a smiling blob)
...
You burst out laughing.
“Oh, sweetheart, this is magnificent.”
“he will like it mom?”
“You wrote uncle wrong,” Zumi said without looking up.
“And fish,” she added.
“And prince. I'm surprised you got your name right.”
Iroh’s face collapsed.
“No I didn’t!”
“You did. Also that fish looks like a sick bear.”
Iroh gasped in betrayal.
“Mom!”
You immediately wrapped an arm around him.
“It is a very handsome fish-bear .”
“It is just fish!”
“Exactly.Yes, A very handsome fish.”
Iroh sniffled.
Zumi rolled her eyes but you caught the tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth.
Interesting.
Was that almost amusement?
You filed that away.
“Your turn, Princess Criticism.”
“I am not criticism.”
“it seems like you are today.”
She sniffed.
“Who are you writing to?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about Aunt Katara? She sent you that beautiful Water Tribe dress.”
Zumi visibly recoiled.
“It looked like a peasant's curtain.”
You shut your eyes.
“Zumi.”
“It did.”
“It was handmade.”
“It was handugly..”
Iroh wheezed.
You turned to him and he stopped.
"and I doubt that she made it herself, based on those clunky necklaces she tried to show us last time," Zumi said.
"Zumi!" you said sharply.
"Imagine if Kaya (Katara's daughter) saud that about mom!. How would you feel? Mom would be upset."
"Iroh, I’ve got this," you said softly, rubbing his arm. You turned your full attention to Zumi.
“Aunt Katara made that with love. When someone gives you something with love, we do not insult it. Never!”
“But-”
“No but.”
She sighed as if kindness was a difficult task.
“Fine.”
She began writing with much neater, sharper strokes than her brother.
Very Zuko. Very annoyingly elegant.
...
Dear Aunt Katara,
Thank you for the Water Tribe dress. I liked it. I wore it in Ba Sing Se. Tell Kaya I said hi.
Princess Zumi, daughter of Fire Lord Zuko and (yn).
.....
You laughed.
“She knows who you are, darling.”
Zumi looked defensive.
“Maybe she forgot.”
“Dont be silly, katara loves you”
Iroh bounced. “Can I write to Uncle Aang next?!”
“Yes.”
“ok but not Uncle Sokka,” he added darkly. “His hawk bites!”
You snorted.
“Fair.”
And before you knew it, all three of you were laughing in the middle of the Fire Lord’s office, surrounded by ink stains, crumpled parchment, misspelled diplomatic disasters, and two children leaning against you while dictating increasingly ridiculous letters to half the world.
Messy, loud, crowded, warm.
Exactly what this palace had once lacked.
Part 4
Operation Honey Cake
Night in the royal nursery was usually peaceful.
Usually.
Tonight, however, peace lasted exactly three minutes after you tucked the blankets beneath two squirming children.
You leaned over Iroh Jr.’s bed first, pressing a soft kiss to his warm forehead.
“Goodnight, my little dragon.”
He smiled sleepily and curled into his pillow.
Then you crossed to Zumi, who was lying unnaturally still with her hands folded over her blanket like a tiny corpse prepared for burial.
You narrowed your eyes, watching her carefully.
“Are you asleep already?”
No response. Not even a twitch.
You leaned down anyway and kissed her temple.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
Silence.
Then, very faintly:
“.. I am asleep...”
You bit back a laugh.
“Of course you are.”
You straightened and moved toward the door.
“Mom?” came Iroh’s little voice.
You looked back.
He was sitting up now, hair wild against the pillow, lower lip already threatening to protrude.
“Yes?”
“I want honey cakes.”
You crossed your arms.
“At this hour?”
“Yes”
“No.”
“But I really, really want them.”
“And I really, really want you not to throw up in my bed at midnight.”
“I won’t throw up.”
“You said that last time.”
“That was because I ate too much too much too fast.”
“Exactly. In a late hour too”
He pouted so dramatically his entire face seemed to collapse inward.
“Please?”
“No sweets before bed, honey.”
“But-”
“not this late, you can have some tomorrow.”
You walked over, kissed him one more time on his stubborn little forehead, tucked the blanket back around his shoulders, then dimmed the lanterns.
“Sleep tight”
He groaned as though deeply oppressed.
You slipped out of the room.
The door clicked shut behind you.
Darkness settled.
For a few moments there was only the sleepy chirp of night insects outside the nursery windows.
Then
Iroh flopped violently onto his side.
“This is the worst night ever,” he muttered to no one.
He turned toward the wall.
Then rolled back onto his back with a sigh heavy enough to concern physicians.
And nearly screamed himself into the spirit world.
A face was hovering inches from his.
Wide gold eyes.
Straight black bangs.
Expression blank.
“AAAAAAAH-”
A tiny hand clamped over his mouth.
“Stop screaming, dum dum!” hissed Zumi. “Mom will hear!”
Iroh’s eyes bulged.
He shoved her hand away.
“What are you doing?!” he whisper yelled. “Why are you in my bed?! Get off!”
Zumi crawled backward with all the eerie stealth of a palace ghost.
“Fine,” she said coolly. “I’m going to get honey cakes alone, I guess.”
Iroh froze.
Honey cakes?
His outrage flickered.
“Mom said no sweets.”
Zumi rolled her eyes in the dark.
“If we are quick, she won’t find out, dah?”
Iroh sat up slowly.
This was beginning to sound less like crime and more like destiny.
“…but how are we gonna get them?”
Zumi’s lips curved. excellent.
The fool was in. She leaned close.
“We need a plan.”
Five minutes later, two tiny barefoot figures crept through the palace corridors.
No slippers.
Just stealth
Or what they believed was stealth.
In reality:
Iroh’s nightshirt kept swishing, and Zumi kept having to physically drag him away from decorative armor so he won't knock them down,
“I said quietly!!” she said whispering-yelling
The stone floors were cool under their feet.
Moonlight spilled through tall windows, making silver pools they leapt across dramatically as if guards were stationed every two feet.
“Why are we going from the dark side?” Iroh whispered.
“So no one sees us.”
“but it’s dark.”
“Exactly.”
“..Im scared... I saw something moving.”
“Shut up and walk iroh!”
He kept walkibg. Poorly.
Instead of heading straight to the kitchen, Zumi abruptly turned down the hall toward Zuko’s office.
Iroh blinked.
“Why are we here?”
“Because,” she whispered with immense superiority, “all important missions need headquarters.”
She pushed open the office door with both hands.
The room loomed large and shadowy.
Father’s giant desk sat in the middle like a mountain.
Moonlight striped the papers.
Ink bottles glinted.
Iroh gasped.
“This feels illegal.”
“It basically is.”
That made it much cooler in their little heads, they slipped inside.
Zumi shut the door.
Then pointed.
“We make fort.”
“Fort?”
“Yes. Secret commander fort.”
Using cushions stolen from the couch outside, one throw blanket, and an alarming amount of determination, the children crawled under Zuko’s desk and constructed a lumpy hideout.
Pillows to the left.
Blanket roof half hanging.
One chair pushed sideways to make an “entrance.”
Iroh stared proudly.
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s tactical,” Zumi corrected.
They crawled inside.
Immediately there was a problem.
“I’m the commander,” Zumi announced.
Iroh gasped.
“No! I’m Dragon King.”
“You can’t be Dragon King.”
“Yes I can.”
“This is a military operation.”
“Dragon Kings are military.”
“No they’re dragons.”
“They can still be kings!”
Zumi glared.
Iroh glared back.
Finally she sighed like someone making an impossible diplomatic compromise.
“Fine. I’m Commander and you’re Dragon King.”
“Yes.”
“But I’m still in charge.”
Iroh considered.
“…fine.”
Treaty achieved.
Zumi wriggled toward the edge of the desk and grabbed one of Zuko’s important parchments.
Iroh gasped.
“That’s Dad’s.”
“We need map paper.”
“That looks expensive.”
“All good paper looks expensive we need those ”
She flattened it dramatically.
Then uncorked an ink bottle.
Too enthusiastically.
The bottle tipped.
Ink spilled across half of what was almost certainly a tax report.
Both children froze.
Iroh whispered, horrified:
“..oh oh..”
Zumi slapped paper frantically over the puddle.
“It’s fine! Clean it!”
“With what?!”
“With another paper!”
“That’s more Dad paper!”
“Then use your sleeve!”
“...I'll use more Dad paper..”
Panic cleaning commenced.
Ink smeared wider.
Now the report looked diseased.
Zumi squinted.
“…he probably won’t notice.”
Iroh looked unconvinced.
“Put them here.”
Fair.
They shoved the ruined papers behind a desk leg and continued.
Zumi drew a very crooked line.
“This is us.”
She stabbed another point.
Another crooked line.
“This is the kitchen.”
Iroh leaned over importantly.
“We should draw danger.”
“Good idea.”
He added what looked like six angry potatoes.
“What are those?”
“Guards.”
“They look weird.”
“They are dangerous guards!”
“Whatever.”
Map complete.
Mission approved.
But before leaving, Zumi paused.
“Oh!”
She scrambled back out.
“Where are you going?” Iroh hissed.
“we need distraction, stay here.”
Two minutes later she returned looking extremely pleased holding a pesr of glasses.
“What did you do?”
“I took the old maid’s glasses, she surely will start looking for them at some point.”
Iroh stared at her in awe.
“That is evil.”
“Thank you!”
The kitchen infiltration began.
They moved low against the corridor wall.
Iroh was breathing like a winded ostrich horse.
Zumi stopped.
“Stop breathing so loud.”
“I’m not breathing loud!”
“You sound like Appa.”
“No I'm not”
“Yes you are”
“No im-”
“JUST BE QUIET”
“...rude...”
They reached the kitchen door.
Inside, one sleepy cook was humming while putting away bowls.
Another maid was muttering, patting around the counters.
“My glasses… where are my glasses…”
Zumi smirked.
Excellent.
The diversion worked.
She yanked Iroh behind a flour sack just as the cook turned.
Iroh squeaked.
The cook narrowed her eyes.
“Thought I saw something…”
The Other maid sighed. “Probably your bad eyesight.”
“Wgere did those glasses went? Did you lost them perhaps?!?”
“Me?!”
Adult bickering erupted while moving to the living room to look for them.
The children exchanged thrilled looks.
“Go go go!” Zumi hissed.
They scampered toward the sweets cabinet.
Iroh nearly slipped.
Zumi caught his sleeve.
He nearly knocked over a tray.
Zumi shoved him.
He opened the cabinet.
Angels sang.
Honey cakes.
Rows of them.
Golden.
Sticky.
Glorious.
“Take everything,” Zumi whispered.
“Everything?”
“E-VE-RY-THING.”
Tiny hands stuffed cakes into pockets, sleeves, nightshirts, and directly into mouths.
Iroh grabbed one and took a giant bite immediately.
Honey smeared across his cheek.
Zumi grabbed three.
Before they knew it flour Burst onto their heads.
They looked at each other.
both were dusted white.
“Run!”
They fled leaving little flour footprints behind them.
Back under Zuko’s desk fort, panting, sticky, and victorious, they dumped their stolen treasure into a pillow pile.
“Yes!” Iroh shouted. “We made it!”
“We were like ninjas!” he added, karate chopping the air.
Zumi rolled her eyes.
“You looked stupid.”
“No I don't.”
“You do.”
“NO I-.”
“You tripped over a spoon.”
“BUT I DIDN'T FELL”
Zumi Shoved a cake into his mouth.
They dissolved into muffled giggles and began eating.
Honey everywhere.
Crumbs in the fort.
Flour in hair.
At one point Iroh had icing on his eyebrow and Zumi laughed so hard she snorted, then immediately denied doing so.
Everything was perfect.
Until-
the office door opened.
Both children froze.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
A servant? Cleaning?
They held their breath.
The door clicked shut again.
Silence.
Iroh exhaled.
“Phew. That was clo-”
They looked up.
“AHHHHHHH!”
You were standing over the desk, hands on hips.
Looking down.
The image before you was extraordinary:
your husband’s state office destroyed,
ink-stained reports,
a blanket fort under the desk,
two powdered sugar goblins blinking up at you.
Iroh still had half a honey cake hanging out of his mouth.
Zumi had three hidden in her sleeves.
Neither looked remotely innocent.
You inhaled slowly.
Very slowly.
“What,” you said in your most terrifying mother voice you could possibly do, “is this?”
Iroh swallowed so hard you heard it.
“I didn’t have any.”
You stared at the honey literally dripping from his chin.
“Really?.”
He nodded.
Honey fell onto his nightshirt.
Zumi straightened.
“The servants let us have one.”
You raised a brow.
“One?”
She looked at the mountain of cakes.
“…each?”
You wanted to laugh.
God, you wanted to laugh.
But you did not.
Instead you narrowed your eyes, crouched down, and delivered a lecture about:
1.sneaking out after bedtime,
2. stealing sweets,
3. making messes,
4. hiding maids’ glasses,
5. vandalizing the Fire Lord’s official paperwork.
Both children wilted.
“Yes, Mom…”
“Sorry, Mom..”
You marched them back toward the nursery, one in each hand.
Behind your stern face, though, warmth bloomed quietly in your chest.
Because yes they had disobeyed.
Yes they had created approximately six disasters.
Yes Zuko might faint when he sees the ink stains. (You have to try and clean everything before he arrives)
But for the first time:
they had done something together.
Planned together whispered together.
Even protected each other.
Shared stolen honey cakes like tiny bandits.
You glanced down at them.
Iroh sticky and sniffling.
Zumi trying to look unbothered while sugar clung to her nose.
And despite yourself
you felt absurdly proud of your little criminals.
Three days later Zuko arrived home.
“why are my international trade reports sticky?”.....
Bonus (homecoming)
It was well past midnight when the palace gates finally opened.
The torches in the courtyard had burned low, their flames small and sleepy against the dark. Most of the servants had already retired only a handful of guards remained at their posts, straightening when the royal carriage rolled in.
You had been awake for an hour longer than you should have been.
Waiting.
You told yourself you would sleep.
You even tried.
But every little sound from outside made your heart jump, and after two weeks with your husband gone in Republic City, your body refused to rest before seeing him walk through those doors.
So when you finally heard the muted voices below and the familiar tread of boots in the corridor, you were already halfway to the chamber entrance.
The door slid open.
And there he was.
Zuko looked exhausted.
Travelworn robes.
Hair half loose.
Shoulders heavy beneath the weight of too many meetings, too many signatures, too many hours pretending not to be tired in front of diplomats.
Yet the second his eyes landed on you
he smiled.
Small, crooked.
Home.
“My love,” he exhaled.
You barely gave him time to set down the satchel in his hand before you were in his arms.
He caught you instantly, pulling you close with a soft grunt, burying his face in your hair.
God, he smelled like wind, smoke, ferry wood, and himself.
You hadn’t realized how much you missed that until now.
“You’re late,” you mumbled against his chest.
“I know.”
“You said evening.”
“The council of the United Republic apparently has no respect for husbands trying to get home.”
You laughed into him.
He kissed your forehead.
Then your cheek.
Then your lips, slow and tired and lingering.
When he pulled back, his thumb stroked beneath your eye.
“Did you sleep?”
“Not really.”
He sighed. “You should have.”
“I could say the same to you.”
“That would require me to have control over old men arguing about shipping tariffs.”
You snorted and finally let him step inside.
Only then did he bend to lift the travel satchel.
“I brought things.”
You raised a brow.
“Things?”
He nodded solemnly.
“Diplomatic necessities.”
Inside: two carved wooden dragon toys, one painted turtleduck puzzle, a little spinning toy from downtown markets, Six folded dresses in soft Republic City fabrics, and an alarming amount of candied sesame sweets.
You stared.
“Zuko…”
“What?”
“You went to an international summit.”
“Yes.”
“You came back as a merchant.”
He looked offended.
“I am capable of statecraft and shopping.”
“Mhm.”
“These are for the children,” he said, pulling out the toys. “And… these are for you.”
He held up the dresses.
You touched one, smiling at the delicate stitching.
“They’re beautiful.”
“Apparently the use different sizing for the women in Republic city than in the fire nation so I described you to the shopkeeper until he guessed your size, this one looked right.”
You burst out laughing.
“That poor man.”
“He survived. I'm sure more husbands have done the same before.”
“surely.”
You leaned in and kissed him again.
“Thank you.”
He set everything aside and rolled his neck with a wince.
Only now, under the warm room light, did you notice how tense he was.
Every muscle in his shoulders looked carved from stone.
You frowned.
“Sit.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“Sit on the bed.”
He obeyed with suspicious caution.
You moved behind him, placing your hands on his shoulders.
They were hard as armor.
“Oh, spirits, Zuko.”
“Bad?”
“You feel like you fought the Earth King barehanded.”
“Worse, politicians.”
You dug your thumbs into the knots.
He hissed.
Then groaned.
Then actually slumped.
“Marry me again,” he muttered.
You laughed.
“As many times as you want.”
For a while there was only the quiet rhythm of your hands kneading tension from him.
The room glowed softly.
Outside, the sea wind whispered through the carved screens.
Zuko closed his eyes.
Finally breathing.
Finally letting the Fire Lord fall away.
After several minutes he spoke, voice low.
“How were you?”
You smiled.
“Quite busy, you sure want to know?”
“I asked it.”
You grinned
He cracked one eye open.
“Well. Your children have turned into criminals.”
His other eye opened.
“What?”
You continued massaging.
“They snuck out at night.”
He turned halfway.
“They what?”
“Mhm.”
“For what reason?”
“Honey cakes.”
He stared at you.
You nodded very seriously.
“They built a fort under your desk.”
“My desk?”
“Yes.”
“In my office?”
“Yes.”
Zuko put a hand over his face.
“Of course.”
“They also hid Ms. Lee’s glasses as a tactical diversion.”
He made a strangled noise somewhere between horror and pride.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“They planned this?”
“Together.”
That made him pause.
You felt it in the way his shoulders shifted under your hands.
“Together?” he repeated, softer.
You smiled.
“Together.”
And then you told him everything that has been going on these past few days.
How Iroh and Zumi now drew side by side on the nursery floor, arguing the entire time, but sharing crayons.
How they stole snacks into their shared room and held secret feasts under blankets.
How some nights, after bad dreams or thunderstorms or simply because they wanted to, both children dragged pillows all the way to your chamber and climbed into your bed, one on each side, until you woke up trapped between tiny limbs.
How Zumi still got angry, still snapped, still rolled her eyes like a tiny tyrant
but now she said things.
Now she admitted when she was upset.
Now she stomped into rooms to announce: “I am mad because Iroh touched my doll,” instead of simply going cold and silent.
She was trying.
Awkwardly
But trying.
Zuko listened to every word without interrupting.
You watched his reflection in the mirror.
The way his tired face softened.
The way some invisible weight eased.
“They’re becoming children,” he whispered.
You kissed the top of his head.
“They always were.”
He covered your hand with his.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For staying. For trying. For… all of it.”
Your chest tightened.
You leaned around him.
“There’s one more thing.”
He looked up.
“Oh?”
You smiled.
“I have a surprise.”
His brows rose.
“At this hour?”
“Mhm.”
You reached to the bedside drawer and pulled out a folded piece of soft cream cloth.
He looked confused.
You placed it in his hands.
He unfolded it.
Tiny sleeves.
Tiny neck opening.
Tiny embroidered little dragon on the front.
A onesie.
Zuko stared.
Once.
Twice...
Then looked up at you so fast you almost laughed.
“…is this”
You were already smiling too hard to speak normally.
“The healers say four weeks.”
For a second he simply sat there.
Frozen.
Golden eyes wide.
As if the information had entered his brain but all functioning systems were still buffering.
“You’re pregnant?” he whispered.
You nodded.
He stood so abruptly you nearly lost balance.
“What- really?”
“Yes.”
“Really really?”
You laughed through sudden tears.
“Yes, really really.”
He made a sound that was half laugh, half broken exhale, and then his arms were around you so tightly it stole your breath.
He buried his face against your neck You felt him shaking lightly
Not from exhaustion now.From emotion too large for words
Another baby.
Another little life.
Not as replacement or as repair.
But as proof. Proof that this family, messy and loud was still growing. Still choosing tomorrow.
When Zuko finally pulled back, his eyes were suspiciously wet. He pressed both hands to your stomach like he could feel time itself there. Then he laughed softly.
“I leave for two weeks,” he murmured, “and this palace turns into chaos.”
You sniffed. “It was already chaos.”
He looked at you. At the little onesie. At the children’s toys scattered nearby. At the life waiting in every corner of this room. And smiled. This time with his whole heart. “Good,” he said.
GENDER? (In the comments please)
Okayyy, this is rushed for sure 😃... There are probably mistakes and I also ended it differently than what I want to, since my drafts keep getting deleted and I got frustrated 😭 (I wrote this three times already, hopefully it isn't too bad) 🤞🏻
The kind of Fire Nation summer morning that made the palace roofs shimmer under the sun and warmed the stone hallways before breakfast had even been served.
You had slept perhaps an hour.
No more
Your mind had spent the entire night circling around every look, every clipped word, every flinch from your daughter.
You had cried into Zuko’s chest until exhaustion numbed you.
He had held you with no blame no anger.
Only those steady hands rubbing slow circles against your back as if reminding you that guilt could either drown you or teach you.
By sunrise, you chose teach.
You dressed simply again and asked one of the servants where Princess Zumi was.
“In the eastern courtyard, Your Majesty. Bending lesson.”
Of course.
You thanked her and made your way there, heartbeat strangely uneven.
This time you did not announce yourself.
You stayed near enough to watch, far enough not to interrupt.
A shadow beneath the archway.
And there she was.
Your daughter.
Her tiny spine ramrod straight.
Hands clasped behind her back while Master Hanzu circled her.
“Again.”
“Yes, Master.”
Proper.
Like always
Never “okay.”
Never childish grumbling.
You watched as she moved through each form with almost unnerving precision.
Left foot.
Turn.
Breathe
Push.
A ribbon of orange fire leapt cleanly from her palms.
“Higher.” She adjusted.
Again.
“Control the wrist.”
Again.
At one point her footing slipped.
A very minor mistake.
The kind Iroh Jr. would have loudly announced to the world with dramatic outrage.
But Zumi did not pout nor whine.
She did not ask for reassurance.
She simply reset herself.
Repeated the movement.
Perfected it.
Again.
And only when Master Hanzu gave the smallest nod of approval did some invisible tension leave her shoulders.
Your throat tightened.
Zuko had been right.
painfully right.
This wasn’t confidence
It was performance.
You leaned against the stone pillar, suddenly dizzy with regret.
How many times had she been trying to earn from everyone what should have been freely given at home?
When the lesson ended, Master Hanzu bowed and left.
Zumi gathered her sash and water flask, small and efficient.
You stepped forward before fear could stop you.
“Hi, baby.”
She looked up.
Blink.
Then immediately looked over her shoulder. Then to the right. Then left.
Searching.
The tiny movement was almost nothing.
But it split you open.
She genuinely thought you could not possibly have come for her alone.
“Um… hi, Mother,” she said cautiously.
A pause
“I don’t know where Iroh is.”
You smiled, though your eyes already burned.
“I came for you.”
Zumi stared.
You opened your arms.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
She blinked once.
Twice.
“…why?”
Your chest physically hurt.
Not because she said it rudely
Because she said it honestly
A child confused by unsolicited affection. You crouched a little lower.
“No reason. Can't I just hug my daughter?”
She studied your face the way one studies a difficult puzzle. Then slowly stepped in.
Her body in your arms was stiff at first careful, polite.
As if she was participating in something ceremonial.
You held her anyway.
Softly
Not too tight
Long enough for her to understand you were not letting go immediately.
You kissed the top of her head.
“Let’s spend some time together today. Just us. What do you say?”
Her brow pinched.
“Am I in trouble?”
You closed your eyes for one tiny second.
How often had your attention toward her meant correction for this to be her first thought?
“No, sweetheart,” you whispered. “You’re not in trouble.” You held out your hand.
“It’s just been too long since we did something together. Something ours.”
There was hesitation
Then, carefully, she slipped her hand into yours.
You took her to the secluded garden
Your fire lily garden.
A place you had loved in solitude for years.
The morning breeze was warm and gentle, stirring the red petals in soft waves.
Sunlight spilled over the stone path in gold ribbons
Birds chattered somewhere in the fruit trees
Such a beautiful day
It felt like the kind of day that should heal things.
You wanted to show her something personal.
A memory
a softness
“These are fire lilies,” you explained as you knelt beside them. “My mother used to grow these when I was little.”
Zumi listened silently
You touched one blossom
“They’re delicate. They take months to grow. Every day you have to water them just right, trim the leaves, watch the soil. Too much heat and they die. Too little and they wilt.”
You smiled, fingers brushing the petals.
“They need time and patience.”
You were still talking when you turned..
..and froze.
Zumi was plucking them.
One by one..
The prettiest ones too...
Little fist full of red blossoms.
Your panic burst out before reason.
“Zumi!”
She jerked.
Flowers slipped from her hands.
“What are you doing?” you gasped. “I just told you these took me months to grow!”
Instantly she went still completely
The same way she always did.
Face blanking. Body bracing. Ready for scolding. Ready to run inside
And suddenly you saw it.
Not defiance. Fear.
You inhaled sharply and swallowed the rest of your frustration.
No.
No, not like before. It's not the way
You took one breath.
Then another
You crouched in front of her.
“Why were you picking them, sweetheart? I told you they were precious”
She stared at the ground.
Silence.
You softened your voice.
“You can tell me.”
A tiny whisper
"I don't know..."
She twisted her fingers together.
“...Father gives you flowers when you are sad sometimes.”
pause
You felt the blood drain from your face.
Oh.
Oh god
She had been trying to make you happy.
You looked at the scattered lilies on the dirt and suddenly wanted to sob.
You reached out and cupped her cheek.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
She looked startled.
“I shouldn’t have shouted.”
Zumi blinked.
As if she did not know what to do with an apology.
You carefully gathered the fallen flowers.
“Well,” you said with a trembling smile, “since they’re picked now… I suppose I should accept my gift.”
You held them to your chest dramatically.
“These are the most beautiful flowers I’ve ever been given.”
"But next time, let's go to the market to pick flowers, alright?"
A tiny uncertain flicker crossed her face.
Not quite a smile.
But close.
Very close.
"okay let's do something different then"
Inside, you decided on Pai Sho.
A quieter activity.
A seated activity.
Something that allowed teaching.
“Why don’t you sit?”
Zumi eyed the board.
“This is an old granny game for old people.”
A startled laugh escaped you.
“Anyone can play Pai Sho.”
“I don’t know how.”
“That’s alright. I’ll teach you.”
You sat down and, after a moment’s hesitation, gently lifted her into your lap.
The second she settled there, her entire body froze.
Rigid.
Like a startled cat.
You pretended not to notice
Did not tighten your hold
Did not make a fuss
Just began placing the tiles
“This one is the rose tile…”
Slowly, as the explanation continued, her shoulders loosened by fractions.
She listened intently.
Asked no questions, but watched every move.
When you explained the final rule, she pointed at the board.
“That’s how you win.”
You smiled into her hair.
“It’s not about winning. It’s about having fun.”
She turned her head to look at you as if you had spoken complete nonsense
Not about winning?
You almost smiled sadly. Of course she wouldn’t understand that.
For children who think praise is earned, I guess everything is a test or a competition
You began the game.
She made cautious moves.
You kept your voice warm.
“Oh, that was a smart move”
She glanced up instantly.
Searching your face.
You continued.
“You trapped me here, look at that.”
Another glance.
Another tiny inhale
You tickled her side lightly when she almost placed a tile wrong.
She squealed.
Actually squealed.
A surprised giggle bubbling out.
You did it again.
She wriggled and laughed harder.
And after each correct move she looked back at you.
Waiting.
Waiting for the thing she had learned to chase.
Praise.
You gave it.
“That was such a good move.”
“Oh, clever girl.”
“Are you sure this is your first time?”
Every single sentence made her sit a little less stiffly.
By the middle of the game, her back rested naturally against your chest.
Not tense
Not formal
Just there
And your eyes burnedd because such a tiny shift felt monumental.
“Mommy!”
The voice came like a cannonball
Iroh Jr. barreled into the room at full speed
You barely had time to lift your head
“Be careful, honey, don’t run -”
Too late.
He tripped directly onto the Pai Sho board...
Tiles flew everywhere
Zumi shot upright.
“No!”
Iroh blinked from the floor.
“ Sorry! I’ll pick it up! Can I play too?”
“No, you ruined the game!” Zumi snapped.
“It was an accident!”
“No it wasn’t!”
“Yes it was!”
Within seconds they were bickering, shoving little shoulders, batting hands.
You tried to intervene
“okay let's all calm down -”
Iroh instinctively crowded against your side.
Seeking protection like he has always done
Seeking the familiar shield of mother
You felt Zumi notice.
Saw the exact second her face hardened.
There it was again.
Brother gets the safe place. He gets defended.
She shoved Iroh.
He yelped.
“Zumi!”
And before you could reach her..
FWOOSH.
A burst of fire shot across the scattered Pai Sho board, lighting the paper tiles.
Flames danced.
Iroh squealed.
Zumi stared one second, breathing hard and
then ran.
Straight out of the room
You sighed shakily, gathering Iroh into your arms while servants rushed to smother the fire.
So close
You had been so close.
After settling Iroh in his room with toys and stern instructions not to run indoors like a wild komodo-rhino, you wandered the corridor feeling wrung out.
That was where you nearly collided with Zuko.
He was carrying a stack of council papers, hair half falling from its tie, brow furrowed. The second he saw you, his face softened.
“There you are, my love.”
He kissed your knuckles.
“So,” he asked lightly, “how is girls’ day going?”
Your eyes filled embarrassingly fast. You laughed once broken.
“I am failing miserably.”
Concern replaced amusement instantly. He set the papers aside and pulled you against him. You sagged into his chest.
“I keep doing everything wrong,” you whispered. He rubbed your back.
“No,” he murmured. “You are learning.”
“I shouted at her over flowers. Then she burned Pai Sho.”
He huffed a soft laugh into your hair despite himself.
You smacked his chest weakly.
“This is not funny!”
“it is a little funny”
You glared and he kissed your forehead.
“The fact that you are trying already changes something,” he said quietly. “Trust doesn’t grow in one morning.”
You closed your eyes. His next words came softer.
“Make it small. Children understand small things better than grand gestures.”
You nodded against him.
Small things.
Right.
Okay you got this.
After you left, steadier than before, Zuko picked up his papers and continued down the hall.
Passing the children’s room, he heard voices and paused.
The door was cracked.
Inside, the children had clearly migrated there after the Pai Sho disaster.
“Give it back, Zumi!” Iroh shouted.
“Try to take it if you are soo strong,” Zumi taunted, dangling his toy glider Uncle Aang had gifted him.
“I’m telling mom!”
“You are so easy to pick on, Iroh. It’s almost funny.”
Zuko sighed looking away and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Then from the kids' bedroom -
clear as if whispered beside his ear-
he heard:
“Don’t be such a baby, Zuzu.”
He went rigid.
Every muscle locked.
His eyes widened
His head snapped toward the room instantly
The children had gone strangely quiet.
Only normal rustling now.
No one had said anything.
But his chest was suddenly tight.
His breathing shallow.
Azula’s voice.
He stepped back from the doorway, shaken.
This was getting into his head.
Too little sleep, too much paperwork, too much worry.
That had to be it.
Still, as he walked away, his hands trembled.
....
Later that afternoon, after taking several calming breaths and deciding not every interaction needed to be an event, you found Zumi alone in a side courtyard.
She was making little bursts of fire dance between her fingers.
Quietly. Concentrating.
“Zumiii,” you called softly.
She looked over.
Still slightly wary.
You crouched.
“Aren’t you tired?”
She shrugged.
“Come relax with me a bit.”
No response. You lowered yourself more dramatically.
“You are going to walk? But you are a princess. That seems highly inappropriate.”
A blink.
“I can walk.”
“Oh, I don’t know…” You swooped in before she could protest and lifted her into your arms.
A tiny gasp left her.
Not upset.
Just surprised.
You carried her all the way back to your room while she stared at you like this was some baffling royal kidnapping.
In your chambers you sat before the mirror with her in your lap.
“I’m going to do your hair it's a bit messy.”
She looked alarmed.
You laughed softly.
“Yes, yes, I know. Dangerous. I promise Ill be good.”
You began combing gently.
There were tangles.
Several.
You worked through them carefully.
Every so often you caught her eyes in the mirror.
She was already looking at you.
Big curious gold eyes.
Studying your face.
As if trying to understand this new version of mother.
“Sorry,” you murmured when you tugged one knot. “Did that hurt?”
She shook her head.
You continued, twisting little sections, pinning them.
Not perfect.
A little crooked.
You finally leaned back dramatically.
"Ta-da."
"it's done!!!"
She stared at her reflection.
Touched the braid.You bit your lip.
“I haven’t done this before, so it may not be perfect.”
A pause
“What do you think?”
She looked at herself another moment.
Then, very quietly
“I like it.”
Your breath caught.
Not because of the words.
Because while saying them, she leaned back.
Naturally.
Her small body settling against your chest.
No stiffness.
No freezing.
Just.. resting there.
Trusting the hold.
It was slight.
So slight anyone else might have missed it.
But you felt it like sunrise after endless night. You kissed the crown of her head. Held her a little closer.
And as you looked at the two of you in the mirror your hands in her little torso, her body slowly learning your lap was a safe place you understood something important.
Healing was not going to be dramatic. There would be no one magical hug that erased months.
No one apology that rewrote habits. It would be this.
A flower accepted instead of scolded. A game played. A child carried. Hair braided.
One small gesture after another.
Trust built the same way fire lilies bloomed.
With patience
With daily care
With time.
You were willing now.
Willing to try every day.
As many days as it took.
And for the first time since Zuko spoke to you last night..
...you believed your daughter might someday stop asking why when you opened your arms.
The same night
The Palace was silent, save for the rhythmic, heavy breathing of sleep. You lay tucked beneath the silk sheets, finally claimed by the exhaustion of the day’s emotional gymnastics.
But Zuko remained in the threshold between memory and reality.
He slid out from under the covers with the practiced grace of a man used to moving in shadows. He didn't light the torches. the Fire Lord had no need for flint and steel after all.
He moved to the heavy writing desk near the window, where the moonlight spilled across the floor
Holding his hand over a small stone dish, he created a tiny, dancing flame. It was low and steady, casting long, flickering shadows against the tapestries, placing it in the candle. He pulled a piece of parchment from the drawer, his movements frantic yet deliberate.
The brush scratched against the paper, the sound loud in the hollow silence of the room.
...
Today I watched my daughter stand very still after being scolded, and I forgot what year it was.
For one second the garden was not my garden.
It was ours.
The way the kids bicker, it’s like a haunting. Iroh is loud and clumsy and demands the world be his stage, and Zumi… Zumi watches him with those eyes that are far too sharp for a child that young. She looks at him like he’s a puzzle she’s already solved, or a threat she has to manage. It makes my chest lock up. I had to stop and breathe until my lungs burned just to keep from shaking.
She’s trying hard.. Not to be a child, but to be perfect. She thinks love is a wage she has to earn. She thinks her mother’s arms are a place she needs an invitation to enter.
She tried to be kind today actually. She picked flowers, and when she was scolded, she didn't cry. She just.. disappeared inside herself. I’ve seen that face before...I see it every time I look in a mirror and think of the years before the scar. But mostly I see it when I remember the girl who used to hide her own heart behind a wall of blue fire because she thought softness was a death sentence.
I wish I could go back. I wish I could reach through the years and grab that stupid, angry boy by the shoulders and tell him to look closer. To see that your cruelty was just a scream for help that no one wanted to hear. But I was a child. And children are stupid. We were both just children, drowning in a house that wanted us to burn.
I see the damage now. It’s a ghost in my hallways. It’s in the way my daughter flinches when she’s noticed. I am trying to undo it. She is trying to undo it. But God, some days it feels unbearable.
I heard your voice today. Just for a second. It sounded like home, or like a funeral.
You keep appearing in my dreams...
I hope you're at peace, wherever your mind has taken you. I hope you aren't cold.
Your brother,
Your Zuzu
Zuko stared at the signature until the ink dried. The "Zuzu" was shaky, the characters slightly blurred.
He didn't move to send it. There was nowhere to send it abyway.
He lowered his hand.
The silence of the room was heavy, thick with the scent of extinguished candle wax and the lingering salt of Zuko’s private grief.
He sat at the desk, his eyes tracing the lines of the letter he had just written, a bridge made of ink to a sister who was lost in a different kind of darkness. He felt raw, his skin sensitive to the cool night air, his heart still thrumming with the echo of his sister's phantom voice.
He didn't hear the door creak. Because it didn't. Zumi moved like a predator or a prayer in this case, entirely without sound.
She stood in the sliver of moonlight cutting across the threshold. Her small hand was pressed against the cold stone of the doorframe, her knuckles white.
She had woken up from s nightmare.
Usually, she would just stare at the ceiling until the sun rose. That was the "strong" thing to do. That was what a Princess did.
But she had seen Iroh Jr. stomp into this room with muddy feet and tear-stained cheeks, and she had seen the way your arms opened like it was the most natural reflex in the world.
She stood there, a tiny shadow in the dark, debating the cost of a hug.
"Zumi..."
The voice was yours thick with sleep, soft as velvet. You had shifted in the large bed, the silk sheets rustling. You weren't fully awake, but a mother’s instinct is a light sleeper.
Zuko flinched, his head snapping up. He looked at you, startled, and then followed your gaze to the doorway.
His breath hitched. He hadn't even sensed her. The sight of her, so small, so hesitant, looking like a forgotten doll in the middle of the vast, dark palace, hit him harder than any blow in a duel ever could.
He stood up immediately, the chair scraping softly against the rug. He didn't say a word. He didn't want to startle her further. He crossed the room in three long strides and knelt.
Zuko didn't give her a chance to talk. He simply slid his hands under her arms and lifted her. She was so light. Too light. He tucked her head into the crook of his neck, his hand supporting her small back, and carried her toward the bed.
He approached your side of the bed. You sat up slightly, blinking away the fog of sleep, and opened your arms. It wasn't a question. It was a command of grace.
"come here" you murmured.
Zuko handed her over. You pulled her into the center of the bed, tucking the heavy duvet around her tiny frame. You laid back down, drawing her into the curve of your body, her head against your neck,her dark hair resting on you.
"What happened?"
you asked, your voice a sleepy, rhythmic hum. You began to pat her back slow, steady thumps that mimicked a heartbeat.
"Nothing," Zumi whispered. The lie was habitual, a defense mechanism she wore like armor.
"Did you have a bad dream, hmm?"
Zumi didn't answer with words. Instead, she turned around in your arms, burying her face into the crook of your neck, hiding from the world, from the darkness, or even from the memory of the dream.
You let out a soft, breathless laugh the kind that comes from a place of pure, overwhelming love. "Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I've got you."
Within minutes, the exhaustion of her own hyper vigilance claimed her. Her breathing evened out, her small hands loosening their grip on your nightgown.
You followed her shortly after, drifting back into a dreamless rest, anchored by the weight of your daughter in your arms.
Zuko stayed sitting on the edge of the bed for a long time, watching.
He looked at your face, softened by sleep, and then at Zumi. In the dim light, she looked so much like him the same brow, the same stubborn set of her jaw even in sleep. But here, in your arms, the "soldier" had vanished. She was just a little girl who had finally decided that it was okay to be afraid.
He looked back at the desk, at the letter addressed as "Zuzu." He thought about his son, sleeping soundly in his room. Normally, Zuko would wander down the hall to bring his son.
But not tonight.
Tonight, the silence felt earned. The space in the bed felt sacred. Zumi had taken a step toward them a tiny, shivering step through the dark and she needed to wake up and find that the space was still hers. That she didn't have to share the air with anyone else to be seen.
Zuko stood, walked back to the desk, and with a gentle wave of his hand, snuffed out the tiny flame in the stone dish. The room plunged into shadows, but it wasn't cold anymore.
He climbed into the bed on the other side of Zumi, surrounding her. He rested his hand over yours which was resting on your daughters back.
We’re doing it, he thought, his eyes finally closing.
We’re bringing her home..
Okayyy soo, a lot of people wanted a part 2 of this so I tried my best, even if I wanted to make it a 'one shot' at the very beginning. Pressure was on, I hope I didn't disappoint anyone.
Let me know if you want a different story in the future.
(btw since I'm new to writing here, I gave no idea how to create an actual masterlist not a taglist, once I figure it out I'll make one, should I tag you to the later?)
Six years of marriage to Zuko, and still there were mornings where you woke up beside him and stared.
Stared at the long dark lashes brushing his cheeks. Long hair falling gracefully even in his sleep.
At the faded scar that had once frightened an entire nation into silence.
At the way his brow furrowed even in sleep, as if being Fire Lord had taught his body to never truly rest.
And every single time, your chest filled with the same warmth.
Mine.
Not because he was Fire Lord.
Not because he was the hero who ended a century of war.
But because beneath all the titles and ceremony and royal robes, he was just your husband.
Quiet
Gentle
A little awkward.
And so full of love it sometimes startled you.
That love had given you two children.
Two very different, very loud, very exhausting children.
And yet somehow both entirely his.
Your eldest, five year old Iroh Jr., was the living, breathing image of Zuko as a boy.
It was almost absurd.
The same dark hair that never sat flat no matter how many servants tried to tame it.
The same golden eyes.
The same little pout when things didn’t go his way.
Even his anger was familiar quick, fiery, explosive, but gone just as quickly when soothed.
He felt hard
He loved hard
He cried hard
He tried hard
Too hard sometimes.
His firebending was clumsy and sputtering still, little sparks and smoke more often than flame, but he never gave up.
Never.
He would stand in the training yard, fists clenched, face red, lower lip trembling with frustration, trying over and over until his tiny shoulders sagged.
And then he’d look at you.
“Mama… did you see that one? Was that better?”
Your heart melted every time.
Because yes yes, it was.
Even when it wasn’t
Especially when it wasn’t.
He was your little boy.
Your mama’s boy
He still crawled into your lap whenever he got sleepy. Still reached for your hand in hallways. Still buried his face in your neck when he got scared.
How could anyone not drown in loving him?
Then there was Zumi.
Four years old.
Four.
And already everyone in the palace whispered in amused admiration that she had more control over her bending than her older brother.
Her flames came smooth.
Sharp and precise.
Elegant little arcs from tiny fingers. Even the masters laughed in surprise.
“A natural talent.”
“She has Fire Lord precision.”
“Princess Zumi may be a prodigy.”
You smiled politely every time.
But inside?
It irritated you.
Because Zumi knew it.
Oh, she knew it.
That little raised brow. That tiny smug tilt of her mouth.
The way she corrected Iroh Jr. every chance she got.
“No, brother, that is not how you stand.”
“No, brother, Father said breathe first.”
“No, brother, you said that word wrong.”
A little smart mouth in silk robes. Always doing things herself. Always refusing help. Always walking around like she had something to prove.
And maybe if she had been softer or if she had been clingier or even if she had run to you with scraped knees and tears the way Iroh Jr. did.. maybe it would have been easier.
But she didn’t.
Zumi rarely asked for affection.
Rarely cried
Rarely cuddled.
She preferred corners, books, puzzles, and practicing tiny disciplined firebursts until she got them right.
Independent.
Sharp-tongued.
Detached.
You told yourself that was simply her nature.
And when she teased her brother, you scolded her.
When she rolled her eyes, you snapped.
When she stood there staring blankly after being corrected, you assumed she did not care.
So your attention naturally returned to Iroh Jr.
The child who needed you the child who wanted you and the child who loved you loudly.
You never thought much of it.
Not really.
But someone did..
Zuko noticed everything.
Every. Single. Thing.
Because fathers noticed things mothers sometimes missed when mothers were too busy loving and also because Zuko had lived this before.
He would watch from doorways.
From council halls
From the garden
From behind open screens
Silent.
Observing.
Iroh Jr. scrambling into your lap while you laughed and kissed his hair.
Zumi standing a few feet away with her hands behind her back, expression unreadable.
You asking your son ten questions about his day. You asking your daughter one.
You kissing Iroh Jr. goodnight three times because he asked for “one more.” You tucking Zumi in with a distracted “sleep well.”
Small things.
Tiny things.
Harmless things.
But Zuko knew better than anyone.. children were built from tiny things.
Not grand cruelties not dramatic hatred.
Tiny things.
Who got looked at first.
Who got forgiven faster.
Who got held longer.
Sometimes, while watching, his stomach would turn cold.
And suddenly he wasn’t in the palace courtyard anymore.
He was eight years old again.
Standing beside Azula.
Watching his father praise her perfect lightning stance.
Watching himself fail.
Watching his mother rush to him afterward with soft hands and worried eyes.
Watching Azula stand farther away.
Not talking.
Never asking.
Smirking because she had learned early that asking got you nowhere.
His mother loved Azula. He knew she did. But love given unevenly still leaves bruises. Azula had sharpened herself on every bruise until she became a blade.
And Zuko…
Zuko had spent years believing he was simply the easier child to love alwayss the wounded one the needy one. The one who reached.
Azula never reached.
So eventually people stopped extending their hands.
That memory haunted him.
Because now..
now when he looked at Zumi, standing too straight for a toddler, too composed, too proud to cry
he saw a little girl teaching herself not to need.
And that terrified him...
The incident happened on a bright afternoon.
One of those warm palace days where the stone floors held sunlight and children’s laughter echoed through every corridor.
Zuko had been in the garden reviewing reports when he heard giggling from inside.
He smiled automatically.
Your laugh was in there.
Iroh Jr.’s shrieking little laugh too.
He moved closer, unseen through the open carved doors.
He saw you walking out of your chambers.
Saw Iroh Jr. crouched beside the doorway, barely hidden.
The boy jumped.
“RAAAH!”
You gasped dramatically, clutching your chest.
“Oh no! A terrifying dragon!”
Iroh Jr. collapsed into hysterical laughter.
You lunged, tickling him until he squealed and kicked.
Zuko leaned against the pillar, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.
This.
This was everything he had wanted when he was a child.
Joy without fear and love without conditions.
Then Iroh Jr. caught his foot in your robe, pitched forward and hit the floor.
The laughter shattered into a cry.
Instantly you dropped down.
“Oh baby oh sweetheart, let me see”
He sobbed over a scraped knee and reddened palms. You scooped him up immediately, kissing tears from his cheeks, blowing over the scratches, murmuring soothing nonsense.
“It’s alright, mama’s got you, mama’s got you…”
Zuko’s smile softened.
He loved you most in moments like these.
Tender.
Instinctive.
Safe.
You carried the boy toward the washroom to clean him up.
And behind the opposite door
small feet shifted.
Zuko’s eyes moved.
Zumi.
She had been watching.
Quiet as always.
Half-hidden.
Studying and learning.
Zuko saw realization light in her face
Oh. 'This is how we play'
Tiny excitement.
Tiny hope.
Before he could speak, she darted out.
You had just adjusted Iroh Jr. higher on your hip when
“RAAH!”
Zumi threw herself at your back (the same way iroh has just done a few minutes ago).
You stumbled, catching yourself. Iroh Jr. wailed louder.
And your reaction came sharp, immediate, stressed.
“Zumi, for goodness’ sake! What are you doing? Iroh is hurt! oh gods…”
Annoyance.
Dismissal.
No laugh.
No tickles.
No playful gasp.
You hurried away with Iroh Jr. in your arms.
Leaving Zumi standing there
Frozen
Zuko felt his heart stop.
Because children understand faster than adults think.
He watched his daughter’s face as the pieces clicked together.
That game was only funny when brother did it.
Brother gets kisses.
Brother gets held.
Brother gets mama.
Her lip trembled.
She blinked hard.
One tear slid down before she angrily wiped it away. Trying to pretend no one saw. Trying to be composed. Trying not to need.
Four years old.
And already trying not to need.
Zuko saw not Zumi.
He saw Azula.
He saw the little girl who had once laughed too loudly and boasted too proudly because pride was easier than asking why no one came after her.
His chest caved in.
Just as Zumi turned toward her room, shoulders stiff, Zuko stepped through the doorway.
“BOO.”
She squeaked and jumped.
His hands were under her arms before she could protest, lifting her high.
She gasped.
“Daddy!”
“Oh? Princess Zumi was scared?” he teased.
“No! I'm not!” she huffed.
He attacked her cheeks with kisses.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Until a startled laugh burst out of her.
A real laugh. Loud and bright and childlike.
There it is, he thought desperately.
There’s my little girl.
He held her close, tighter than usual.
And while she buried her face in his shoulder pretending she was too dignified for this, Zuko closed his eyes.
I see you.
Even if others miss it, I see you.
That night, after both children were asleep, Zuko stood outside your shared chamber for a long time.
Long enough that the servants passing pretended not to notice their Fire Lord staring at a door like it was an enemy general.
He dreaded this conversation.
Because he knew you loved your children.
He knew you were not cruel.
And somehow that made it harder.
Cruelty could be fought.
Blindness required tenderness.
He entered.
You were in bed reading.
You smiled softly when you saw him.
“There you are. You look exhausted. Come here, I’ll massage your shoulders.”
His heart twisted.
Gods, he loved you.
This would hurt.
“I’m alright,” he said quietly.
Something in his tone made you set the book aside.
“What is it?”
He sat on the edge of the bed.
Hands clasped
The unclasped
Clasped again.
For a while he just stared at the floor.
Then he said, “Can we talk about the children?”
You blinked.
“Of course.”
"was zumi picking on iroh again?" You said ready to get up to check the kid's bedroom.
"No no, it's something different" he said quickly
"alright, I'm listening"
He inhaled shakily.
And began with a story.
He told you about being young. About always feeling too much. About failing in front of his father. About his mother pulling him close after every humiliation.
About Azula standing there with that strange little smile. He told you how he used to think Azula didn’t care. That she was simply mean by nature.
Proud.
Cold
sharp.
Self-sufficient.
Until years later he realized children do not become hard for no reason. They become hard because softness goes unanswered.
Your face slowly changed.
Confusion.
Then discomfort.
Then dawning horror.
Zuko’s voice broke.
“Sometimes… I wish my mother had tried harder with Azula.”
A tear slipped down his cheek.
“She loved us both. I know she did. But she worried about me more. Held me more. Defended me more. And Azula…” he swallowed, “Azula learned that no one was coming when she stood quietly.”
You whispered, “Zuko…”
He looked up at you, eyes glassy.
“When I watch Zumi stand there after you walk away from her ” his breath shuddered, “—I feel like I’m watching ghosts.”
You went still.
Completely still.
He pressed on before courage left him.
“You are an incredible mother,” he said quickly, tears spilling now. “This is not me accusing you. I know how much you love them. I know how much you love our son.”
His voice cracked on our son.
“But Zumi is still a baby too.”
That shattered something in you.
“She doesn’t ask,” you whispered weakly.
Zuko nodded, crying openly now.
“I know.”
His hand found yours.
“That’s exactly why she needs us to offer.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Unforgiving.
You remembered every clipped response.
Every impatient sigh.
Every time Zumi stood there expressionless and you assumed she was unaffected.
You remembered her little face that afternoon.
You had not even turned around.
Your stomach dropped.
“Oh my god…”
Tears blurred your sight.
“I didn’t see it.”
“I know,” Zuko whispered.
You covered your mouth with shaking fingers.
“I didn’t see it.”
And that was somehow worse than if you had.
Because neglect born from accident still leaves the same wound.
You began sobbing.
“I love her, I really do.. so much—”
“I know,” Zuko said immediately, crawling onto the bed and gathering you into his arms.
“I know you do.”
You clutched his robe like drowning.
“I failed her.”
“No,” he murmured into your hair, though his own tears soaked your temple. “No. You are seeing her now. That matters.”
He pulled back just enough to cup your face.
“Please,” he whispered, forehead against yours, voice shaking with every ounce of fatherly fear he had carried for months, “I cannot watch one of my children grow up believing they must earn their mother.”
That sentence broke you. Completely.
Because suddenly you saw it all.
Zumi’s independence.
Her sarcasm.
Her perfectionism.
Her refusal to cry.
Not confidence.
Armor. Tiny little armor. And she was only four.
That night neither of you slept much. You lay against Zuko’s chest listening to his heartbeat while guilt hollowed you out.
His fingers stayed threaded in your hair. Protective and steady.
As if he was holding together not just you
but the family he was terrified to lose to old patterns.
In the nursery down the hall, two children slept.
One loved loudly.
One loved quietly.
And tomorrow, you swore to yourself with tears still wet on your cheeks
you would learn how to hear both...
Ok guys, I just took a break from the series to make this. When I thought about this story, I just couldn't wait to write it down.
(And yes, I used a part of atla for the children, where zuko and azula were kids)
I hope it was ok. Let me know if you want me to think about part 2.
Pairing: Zhao's daughter x Prince Zuko (Firelord) Enemies to lovers trope, slow-burn
Synopsis: The daughter of Admiral Zhao and the banished Prince. Will she reach Team Avatar first? Will she lose her father, or be the one to betray him? Will she ever let go of her grudge against Zuko?
One thing is for sure: years later, she’s still the only one who can get away with teasing the Fire Lord.
Part 4
"Hands sharper than fire"
The night was chaos with fire clashing against ice, the sky glowing with violent bursts of orange and blue. Snow swirled in sharp winds, melting the moment it touched the battlefield. The spirits’ presence lingered heavily in the air, watching… judging.And in the middle of it all your father.
Admiral Zhao stood tall, flames roaring from his fists, his expression twisted with obsession. This wasn’t strategy anymore. This wasn’t war. This was madness at this point.
Across from him, Zuko fought back with everything he had each movement sharp but strained, each breath heavier than the last. He was losing ground. You could see it in the way his stance faltered, the way his fire flickered just a second too slow.
You weren’t supposed to hesitate. You weren’t even supposed to question.
Zhao had raised you to follow orders, to be loyal, to be his. But this? This wasn’t loyalty. It was destruction. Your heart pounded loud but not from fear, but from the weight of what you already knew you were about to do. You stepped forward.
Boots crunching against ice.
The sound was small, but it cut through the chaos.
Zhao noticed immediately. His head turned sharplyand then his expression shifted. A smile spread across his face. Proud and certain
“My daughter,” he said, voice filled with satisfaction. “Finally.” He thought you had come to stand beside him. To finish this. To prove your loyalty once again
Zuko saw you too and for just a moment, he froze. Confusion flickered across his face. Suspicion followed right after. His guard didn’t drop, but something in his stance changed, like he didn’t know which enemy to face anymore. You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Because if you did, you might hesitate. And hesitation would ruin everything.
You moved.
Fast and decisive....but not toward Zuko.
Toward Zhao.
For a split second everything stopped. Zhao’s smile shattered. Not slowly and surely not subtly.
“What are you...”
Your attack hit hard. He staggered back, more from shock than impact, his balance faltering as he stared at you like he didn’t recognize you anymore. Zuko blinked, completely thrown off.
“What..?” he started, but didn’t finish. Because now it was clear. This wasn’t a misunderstanding. This was betrayal! The fight shifted instantly.
“You dare... you little brat” he roared, voice echoing across the frozen structures. “After everything I gave you?!” You didn’t answer. There was nothing to say. You fought him the way he taught you. Precise and elentless. Every strike calculated, every movement efficient. No wasted energy and most importantly no hesitation. If there was pain in you it didn’t show.
Zuko joined in after a heartbeat too long, still trying to process what was happening, but instinct pulled him back into the fight. His flames clashed with Zhao’s, creating bursts of heat that cracked the surrounding ice. For a moment, your movements aligned.
Not perfectly but effectively. Where Zhao struck, one of you countered and where he pushed, you held.And slowly... He began to lose ground.
Zhao was powerful. But he was unbalanced. Dri ven by fury instead of control. And that was his weakness.
The final moment came fast. A misstep. A shift in footing on unstable ice, Zuko’s attack forced him back and yours cut off his recovery. And then..
There was nothing beneath him.
Time seemed to slow as Zhao fell. His eyes locked onto yours angry and shocked but mostly uncomprehending.Like he couldn’t understand how it was you. His daughter (His soldier) The one who was never supposed to break. Then he was gone. Swallowed by the dark, freezing water below.
The sound echoed longer than it should have then immediately silence. The fire died down. The wind returned. The world kept moving.
But you didn’t.
You stood there, unmoving at the edge. Eyes fixed on the place where he disappeared. Empty and unreadable.
Your chest rose and fell steadily, but everything else about you was still too still for someone who had just done what you did. There was no visible grief. No relief. Just… determination.
Like you had made a choiceand accepted the cost the moment you made it.
Behind you, Zuko was breathing hard exhausted. He looked at younot like before.
Not like an enemy but not even like an ally. But like something he didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand, uou hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t even looked at him. And somehow, that made it heavier.
He took a small step back then another, still watching you. Waiting. For something... Anything. Maybe an explanation? A reaction? A sign that you were still human?
You gave him nothing.
Until
"Go" your voice was sharp and empty, "u won"
Pause.
"I didn't" he said low and uncertain
"Then what are you waiting for?” you asked, finally tearing your gaze from the water but not turning fully. Just enough for your voice to carry. “Your honor?” That struck something.
You felt it before you saw it the shift in the air, the flicker of something raw and defensive rising from him. Your breath become heavy But you didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing your face.
“Take it,” you continued, quieter now. “I’m not stopping you.”
And that was what made him leave. Slowly, quietly, Zuko turned and disappeared into the night. Leaving you alone. At the edge of the choice you could never take back. The night Zhao fell did not end when the water swallowed him. It lingered and it lived in your bones.
You didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Didn’t feel.
(You half expected Zhao to resurface furious, unstoppable, alive. He had always been larger than life. Even now, part of you waited for his voice to cut through the silence and command you again.)
But there was nothing. Only wind. Only the hollow crackle of distant fire. Only the unbearable quiet.
You were alone.
1 week later
"Ba Sing Se"
The journey to Ba Sing Se felt longer than it should have.
Every step carried weight. Every village you passed through felt like it knew. Fire Nation soldiers had once saluted you bowed to you. Now you kept your hood low, your flames hidden, your name buried. You weren’t anyone anymore. Not Zhao’s daughter. Not a gur nation warrior. Surely not loyal.
Just… drifting.
The Earth Kingdom capital rose like a promise on the horizon vast, impossible, untouched by war on the surface. Its walls loomed high, offering protection… or maybe just another kind of cage.
Inside, everything was quieter.
Too quiet.
People spoke in whispers. News moved like shadows never direct, never loud.
And then you heard it. Even in a city like this one people still talked. The news reached your ears.
The Avatar is here.
You found them easier than you expected. Not because they were careless but because something about them stood out. They really were the lught in a city that tried too hard to dim everything.
You watched them first.
From rooftops.
From alleys.
From the edges of crowds.
The Avatar, aang, was always laughing, hopeful and full of life even here.
The waterbender girl, Katara, was steady and watchful and protective of the team (If you wanted to keep watching them, you had to make sure she wouldn't know..)
Her brother, Sokka, was loud and suspicious, you didn't think he was a threat.
The Earth bender, Toph, was as sharp as stone. Powerfull and strong.
You needed to be careful. But you had plans
The first time they saw you, it went exactly as expected. Badly.
“You!” Aang’s voice cracked with shock.
Sokka stepped in front of him immediately. “It’s Zuko’s girl!”
“I’m not—” you started, irritation flashing.
“Doesn’t matter,” Toph cut in. “She’s Fire Nation.”
You held their gaze.
Unflinching.
“I came to help.”
Laughter ironic short and disbelieving.
“You expect us to trust you?” Sokka scoffed.
“No,” you said simply.
That shut him up.
You stepped forward anyway.
“I expect you to listen.”
Trust wasn’t given.
It was fought for.
Piece by piece.
You gave them information real information. Troop movements. Patrol routes. Hidden tunnels beneath Fire Nation structures. You drew maps from memory, precise and detailed enough that even Sokka stopped questioning their accuracy. They let you join them for a few days.
You trained with them. Fought beside them.
Took hits for them.
Said little but proved everything.
Slowly..painfully...they stopped looking at you like an enemy. And one day, without anyone announcing it, without any ceremony…
You were just there. A Part of them now.
But even now, you still couldn't get one thing out of your head for some weird reason.
.....
Zuko
Zuko was somewhere else entirely.
He cut his hair. The blade shook slightly in his hand, but he didn’t stop. Each strand that fell in the water felt like something severe .. expectation, identity, failure. He needed a new start
His reflection stared back at him afterwar unfamiliar, raw, uncertain.
Azula had left him behind.
Again.
The Fire Nation had turned its back.
Again.
And yet…
That wasn’t what stayed with him.
Not really.
It was you.
You, standing at the edge of that ice
You, betraying your own father (or choosing zuko? No it can't be...)
You, not looking back
Your words
It didn’t make sense and it shouldn’t make sense.
You were Zhao’s daughter for god's sake. Cold ruthless untouchable. You literally had tried to kill him before.
And yet
You had stood between him and death.
Without hesitation
Without explanation
Without even looking at him
He tried not to think about it, tried to bury it under survival, under hunger, under exhaustion.
Life with Iroh was… different now. Quieter. Smaller. They worked at a tea shop, serving strangers, pretending to be no one.
It should have been enough but it wasn’t. Because you kept appearing in the edges of his thoughts. In the pauses between conversations. In the silence before sleep.
And then..
In his dreams.
At first, it was nothing.
Just fragments maybe shadows.
A feeling.
But then jt became clearer.
Zuko stood in the Fire Nation throne room.
But it wasn’t the throne room he knew.
There were no war maps scattered across the floor. No looming shadows. No echo of Ozai’s voice pressing down on him like a weight he could never lift.
Sunlight poured in through the tall windows, warm and soft, turning everything gold instead of harsh red.
The air didn’t feel suffocating.
It felt… still.
Peaceful.
He was sitting on the throne.
Not rigid. Not tense.
Just… sitting.
Like he belonged there.
Like he wasn’t waiting to be judged.
His hands rested loosely on the armrests. No clenched fists. No trembling fingers. His shoulders weren’t drawn tight.. they had dropped, finally, like something inside him had decided it was safe to let go.
And when he shifted slightly ...
He noticed it.
The absence.
No scar.
No tight, pulling reminder across his face.
Just smooth skin.
Unmarked.
Whole almost like it was never there.
For a second, something in him wanted to panic. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.
But the feeling didn’t come.
Because something else replaced it.
Something stronger.
Warmth.
Behind him, fingers slipped gently into his hair.
Slow and careful.
Not grabbing.
Not controlling.
Just… there. Caressing
He stilled but not out of fear this time but out of awareness.
The touch moved again, softer this time, combing through the length of his hair, pushing it back from his face in a way that felt… familiar.
Comforting.
Like it had been done a hundred times before.
He didn’t turn.
He didn’t need to.
Because whoever it was
They weren’t a threat
His body knew that before his mind could question it.
His eyes lowered slightly, lids growing heavier as the tension he carried for so long… slipped.
Just a little.
“You’re thinking too much again.”
The voice came from behind him.
Quiet. Teasing and very close to him.
Zuko exhaled.
A soft breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
“I’m not,” he murmured, though there was no bite to it. No defensiveness.
Just… habit.
A soft huff of laughter.
Warm.
Real.
The kind that didn’t expect anything from him.
“Liar.”
The word wasn’t sharp.
It was gentle.
The fingers in his hair paused then lightly tapped his forehead.
Right where his thoughts always tangled.
“Just sit still, you are fine” you whispered.
And he did.
The scene then shifted without breaking. No jolt or fear.
Just… a slow change, like turning a page.
The palace gardens stretched out around him bright and alive.
The red fire lilies swayed gently in the breeze, their petals glowing under the sun like embers that refused to burn.
Zuko walked slowly along the stone path, hands loosely at his sides.
No guards like always, no expectations from anyone, no one watching him.
It felt… strange.
But not wrong.
Then..
A laugh.
He stopped.
That sound
He knew it.
It echoed softly from somewhere ahead, light and unrestrained, carrying easily through the warm air.
His chest tightened but not painfully. Just… something pulling him forward. So he followed it.
Past the lilies. Past the trees.
Toward the lake.
The water shimmered under the sunlight, calm and endless. He approached slowly, like he used to when he was younger before everything had gotten complicated. Before he learned how to be angry all the time.
He sat at the edge.
Then, after a moment ..
He lay back.
The stone beneath him was warm.
The air soft.
A breeze brushed across his face, carrying the scent of flowers and water and something he couldn’t quite name but didn’t need to.
For the first time in what felt like forever
Zuko did nothing.
He didn’t plan.
He didn’t think
Didn’t replay mistakes over and over again
He just… existed.
His eyes closed slowly.
Breathing evened out.
The tightness in his chest was now gone.
The constant noise in his mind was fir once quiet.
And then he felt it before he saw it.
The subtle shift in the air.
The warmth beside him.
A hand brushed lightly against his hair, fingers catching the strands that had fallen across his forehead. Moving them away carefully.
Like it mattered.
Like he mattered.
Zuko didn’t open his eyes right away.
Didn’t want to rush it.
Didn’t want to scare the moment away.
Fingers lingered, absentmindedly playing with the ends of his hair, smoothing it back, then letting it fall again just to fix it once more.
A quiet habit.
Soft.
Unthinking.
“You look better like this,” you murmured.
His lips twitched just barely fir anyone to notice.
“Like what?”
“Quiet.”
That almost made him laugh.
“You mean tired,” he said instead.
“No,” you replied softly. “I mean… at peace.”
Peace.
The word felt foreign.
But here
With you
It didn’t feel impossible.
Slowly, he opened his eyes
And there you were
Closer than he expected
Leaning over him slightly, your expression softer than he had ever seen it. No sharp edges. No guarded walls.
Just you.
Looking at him like he wasn’t something broken.
Your fingers were still in his hair.
Still playing gently with it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like this was the most natural thing in the world.
Zuko didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Because he understood something, deep down in a place he didn’t usually let himself feel
If he did move
This would end.
So he stayed still.
Letting the moment stretch.
Letting himself feel it all
The warmth.
The quiet.
You.
“You’re staring at me ” you whispered, amused. He swallowed.
“Am I?”
“Yeah.”
A small smile tugged at your lips.
“Dobt worry too much I don’t mind it”
That.. that did something to him.
Something small and soft.
Something dangerous someone could say
His hand lifted slightly hesitating, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed
Before resting lightly over your wrist.
Not to stop you.
Just… to feel that you were real.
You didn’t pull away.
Instead, your thumb brushed lightly against his temple.
Slow.
Comforting.
“You should rest more,” you said quietly.
“I am,” he murmured.
And he meant it.
Because for once
He wasn’t fighting anything. He let his eyes close again, just for a second.
Leaning into the warmth of your hand.
And if this was a dream ..
He didn’t want to wake up.
“Zuko.”
The voice slipped in softly.
Distant.
His brow furrowed slightly.
No.
Not yet.
“Zuko.”
Closer now.
Pulling.
Your hand stilled.
“Stay,” he whispered, barely audible.
But the warmth was already fading.
“Zuko, wake up.”
His eyes snapped open.
The garden was gone.
The lake gone.
You..
Gone.
The ceiling of the tea shop replaced the sky. The air was colder.
Heavier
It felt erong.
Zuko sat up slowly, his chest tight in a way that felt almost unfamiliar now because he had just felt the absence of it.
His hand lifted unconsciously to his hair. Still short.
He felt weird
Empty
For a long moment, he just sat there.
Silent.
And then his jaw tightened.
The rest of the day..
He said very little. Moved sharply. Avoided Iroh’s looks. Because no matter how much he tried to push it away
The feeling stayed
Not confusion.
Not anger.
Not even embarrassment.
Something worse.
Longing.
And it irritated him more than anything else. Because he didn’t just dream about you. He felt safe with you. And that was something he didn’t know how to fight....
Pairing: Zhao's daughter x Prince Zuko (Firelord) Enemies to lovers trope, slow-burn
Synopsis: The daughter of Admiral Zhao and the banished Prince. Will she reach Team Avatar first? Will she lose her father, or be the one to betray him? Will she ever let go of her grudge against Zuko?
One thing is for sure: years later, she’s still the only one who can get away with teasing the Fire Lord.
Part 2
"The Mask Falls"
The ocean burned that night. Not with fire, but with victory. The trap had been flawless.
Every movement calculated. Every escape route cut off before it even existed. You had watched the Avatar long enough to know how he thought, how he reacted, how he trusted too easily when it came to the people he cared about. And that was his weakness.
The fight itself? Brief. Almost disappointing really.
The avatar had fought, of course he had. Air twisted around him, fast and unpredictable, his movements light, evasive, almost impossible to pin down.
Almost.
But you were faster in a different way. Not in speed. In thought. You let him move. Let him believe he had space. Let him think he was winning. And then..
You closed it.
One wrong step, one miscalculation, one moment where his focus slipped.. and your strike landed clean.
He hit the ground hard.
The Avatar.
The strongest being in the world. Reduced to silence. You stood over him, breathing steady, eyes calm.
“To be fair,” you murmured under your breath, almost bored, “you never stood a chance.” A pause. “You’re just a child.”
When he woke, everything hurt. The air was heavy. Still. Wrong. His wrists burned. His ankles throbbed, bound, tightly.
He struggled immediately, panic kicking in fast, sharp breaths breaking through the silence as he twisted against the restraints. Nothing. They didn’t move. Didn’t loosen. Didn’t break.
The door creaked open.
He froze.
Because he already knew who it was, u stepped inside like you belonged there. Like the entire ship bent to your will (Which, in many ways it did).
“It’s you,” he whispered. His voice trembled. Not from weakness. From fear. You didn’t answer right away.
You simply walked closer, your steps quiet, measured, echoing softly against the metal floor, studying him.
The Avatar.
The symbol of hope.
Now tied up like something… insignificant. “What do you want?” he asked quickly, words rushing over each other. “I—I need to go back to my friends, please...please, they need me—”
“Silence.”
The word cut through him like a blade. He stopped.
You crouched in front of him, gaze sharp. And without warning, you pulled the restraints tighter.
He gasped..pain shooting through his arms as the bindings bit deeper into his skin. “I said,” you murmured, voice low, controlled, dangerous, “be quiet.”
Tears threatened, but he held them back.
Barely.
“…please,” he whispered again. You ignored him.
“You won’t be here long,” you said calmly, rising to your feet. Relief flooded his face instantly. “Really?”
Hope.
Fragile.
Naive.
You let it sit there for just a moment. Then.. You shattered it. “The Fire Lord Ozai will be very pleased to meet you.” Everything broke.
“No—no, you can’t—please!” he struggled harder now, desperation overtaking him. “I have to go back! My friends—they need me, I can’t—!” You turned away. Already done, bored Behind you, his voice followed, begging, cracking, desperate. You didn’t look back.
Two hours later..
The ship erupted.
“INTRUDER!”
“TO ARMS!”
“PROTECT THE PRISONER!”
And then
Impact. Metal against metal. Bodies hitting the floor. You were already moving before the second shout. Boots striking fast, precise, cutting through corridors as soldiers rushed past you in chaos. But something was wrong.Very wrong. The shouting didn’t last. It ended. Too quickly.
One by one..
The voices disappeared. Silence replaced them. Heavy and unnatural.
You slowed, eyes narrowing. The corridor ahead told the story. Guards... Everywhere unconscious. Not dead. Not even badly injured.Just taken down. Cleanly and efficiently.
Then you felt it. Movement. At the far end. You stepped forward. And saw him.
A man.
Dressed in black. Face hidden behind a mask..the blue spirit?
He was standing beside the Avatar. Behind him, the cell was open. Empty... So. He had taken him. Guards rushed in from both sides, shouting, attacking, fire blazing toward the masked figure.. And failing.
He moved like water and fire combined. Precise, and untouchable.
You watched.
Not rushing.
Not interfering.
Just..
Observing.
His stance, his footwork, the way he turned his shoulders before striking. The way he anticipated attacks before they happened.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
Your eyes sharpened. One by one, the guards fell. None of them landing a single meaningful hit. None of them even slowing him down.
Until.
There was no one left standing. Except you. He turned slightly. Not fully. Not yet. He hadn’t noticed you.
A mistake.
You moved.
Fast.
Silent.
Deadly.
He didn’t even have time to react properly, your dagger drove forward, straight into his back. The impact forced the air from his lungs as his body jerked forward and before he could recover, your fist collided with his face.
Hard.
He hit the ground, unconscious.
Silence returned.You stood over him, breathing steady, eyes cold. Then, the mask shifted. Just slightly. Enough.
Enough for you to see it.
The scar.
Your breath stilled.
“…Zuko.”
Of course it was him. A slow smile spread across your face. “Well,” you murmured softly, crouching beside him, “this just became interesting.” The Avatar. And now...
The banished prince.
A traitor, a failure.
Both in your hands.
Your father would be impressed. The Fire Lord? Even more.Everything you had ever been taught. Everything Zhao had drilled into you since you were a child.
Glory. Power. Recognition.
This was it. You reached for him. Ready to drag him up. Ready to claim both prizes. And then--
Air exploded against you. You were thrown back hard, your body slamming into the wall as breath left your lungs in a sharp gasp. You looked up.
Just in time to see him. The Avatar. He moved quickly, too quickly, grabbing Zuko without hesitation. No fear or doubt. And then just like that they were gone.
Vanished into the night. Silence fell again. But this time, It burned. Your fingers tightened slowly against the floor.
“…no.”
Not like this. You stood, expression darkening, fury simmering beneath your calm exterior. You had them. Both of them. And they slipped through your hands.
Unacceptable.
Later that night
Zhao was furious. “INCOMPETENCE!” he roared, slamming his fist against the table. “An entire ship, and you let a single intruder dismantle it?!” The crew stood frozen. Terrified. You stood beside him, calm and composed. “There will be consequences,” Zhao continued, pacing like a predator. “I will not tolerate failure”
You said nothing. Because you weren’t thinking about the failure. You were thinking about him.
Zuko.
Alive.
Still chasing the Avatar. Still… trying. And you..You said nothing about the mask. Nothing about the scar you saw a few minutes ago. Because if you caught them both yourself..All the glory would be yours.
Months passed. The war continued. The hunt continued.
But finally Zhao learned the truth.
“The masked intruder,” he said coldly, “was Prince Zuko.” You froze. Just for a second. You turned slowly. “…what?”
Perfect.
Controlled.
Convincing.
Zhao’s eyes burned with anger. “He dares betray the Fire Nation. Dares interfere with my victory.”
A pause.
Then, sharp...“He will be dealt with.” Your heart didn’t race. It didn’t panic. But something inside you ... Something shifted. “Dealt with?” you asked carefully.
Zhao stopped.
Looked at you. “I will end him.”
No.
The word echoed instantly in your mind.
Loud.
Final.
No.
That wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Not like this. Not by him.Zuko wasn’t Zhao’s to kill.
He was yours.
Yours to hunt, yours to break, yours to deliver. To the Fire Lord, personally. You lowered your gaze slightly. Calm.
“Of course,” you said smoothly. But inside..
Your decision was already made. You would find him first. You would take him. Alive. And when you stood before Fire Lord Ozai.
With the Avatar.
And his traitor son.
You would finally have everything. Glory, power, recognition
Everything your father had ever promised.
Right?
…Right.
End of Part 2
Part 3
"Fire Against Blood"
The ship was silent but not the calm kind of silence. The wrong kind. No footsteps, no voices, no clanking armor or muttered complaints from soldiers.
Empty. The prince's crew has gone out. Which meant one thing. Your father had already made his move.
You stood at the edge of the deck for only a second, staring out into the dark sea. The wind pulled at your clothes, cold and sharp, carrying with it the faint scent of oil.
Explosives. Set and ready, waiting.
“Efficient,” you murmured under your breath. Of course it was. Commander Zhao didn’t leave loose ends. And Prince Zuko was a loose end.
You turned. Walked inside. His quarters were dim. Barely lit. He hadn’t even bothered to secure them. Careless (Or exhausted).
He was asleep.
For a moment, you just watched him.
The scar. The tension even in rest. The way his hand twitched slightly, like he was still fighting something in his dreams. Still chasing something he couldn’t catch..
Pathetic.
…And yet.
You moved. Fast! The cloth pressed hard against his mouth before he could even fully wake. His eyes snapped open instantly, wide, confused.
Then sharp. Focused.
You.
Recognition burned through him. So did fury. He jerked violently, grabbing your wrist, trying to rip the cloth away, struggling to breathe, to shout, but you held firm. “You’re loud,” you muttered coldly. “Try not to be.”
He didn’t listen. Of course he didn’t. He slammed his elbow into your side hard.Pain exploded through you as your grip loosened just enough and that was all he needed.He surged forward.
The fight began instantly.No warning or hesitation.
His fist connected with your shoulder, sending you crashing back into the wall. You barely had time to recover before he came at you again, fire sparking in his hands. You kicked him mid-motion, sending the flames scattering uselessly as he staggered.
“YOU—” he started, rage spilling over. You didn’t let him finish. You lunged. Blade flashing. He caught your wrist just in time, twisting it sharply as your bodies collided again too close, too fast and too violent.
“You just don’t stop!” he snapped. Your lips curled, breath uneven but steady, “Neither do you.” He slammed you down hard.The impact rattled your bones but you rolled immediately, sweeping his legs out from under him.
Now he was down.
Now you were on top.
And still neither of you held back. Blow after blow. Strike after strike. He hit you, you hit him harder. Your lip split. His cheek bruised.Your ribs ached. His breath came sharp and uneven, the fight stopped being calculated. Stopped being clean. It turned into something raw something ugly. “You should’ve stayed gone!” he snarled, shoving you off him.
You wiped blood from your mouth, laughing under your breath. “And miss this? Never.”He came at you again, you met him head-on—
Fire flared. Steel flashed.
Bodies collided.
It was war in a single room. Until finally..
You won.
Barely. He was tied, restrained. Breathing hard, barely conscious, but still glaring at you like he’d rather die than lose. You crouched in front of him, chest rising and falling.
“…still trying,” you muttered. He spat blood to the side.
“I’ll… kill you.”
You smiled.
“You’ve been saying that for years.” Then you grabbed him. Dragged him out. The deck was still empty. The ship still silent.
Perfect.
Without hesitation you Shoved him overboard. His body disappeared into the dark water below. A second later you followed. The cold hit like a blade. Water swallowed you whole, freezing, suffocating—but you pushed through it, grabbing him, forcing him toward the surface.
You had done it.
You had gone against your father. Against Zhao. Against everything you were raised to obey.
Why?
Because this mattered more. Not killing him. Not yet.
Delivering him.
Broken and failed and now a traitor to Fire Lord Ozai. Personally.
You dragged him farther from the ship, farther into the dark until suddenly..
He moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
The ropes loosened, gone, his strength snapping them apart as he twisted, grabbing you and slamming his fist into your side. You gasped, losing your grip and then you were fighting again.
In the water clumsy, violent and desperate. He shoved you under you forced your way back up he struck, you struck back ..Until..
BOOM.
The explosion ripped through the night. Both of you froze. The ship now gone. Consumed in fire. Zuko stared.
Shock flooding his face.
“…no.”
Understanding hit him instantly. That wasn’t an accident. That wasn’t pirates the encounter in the previous days.
That was Zhao.
His eyes snapped to you. You said nothing. Didn’t need to. He understood. You didn’t set the bomb. You saved him. A bitter realization twisted in his expression.
“…you,” he muttered. You met his gaze.
Cold.
Unapologetic.
“You’re not worth killing like that.” A pause and a smirk that followed. “I’ll do it properly.”
He let out a harsh, humorless breath.
“…of course you will.”
For a second Something passed between you.
Understanding?
Hatred?
Something dangerously close to respect.
Then before you even had the time to react, his fist connected with your temple hard. Darkness swallowed you. The last thing you saw was him. Standing over you. Breathing hard. And hesitating.
He should’ve left you. He wanted to.
God, he wanted to.
You had hunted him. Broken him. Nearly killed him more times than he could count. There was still a mark on his back from your dagger. Bruises across his face. Scratches burning across his arms. You were his enemy. You deserved whatever the pirates would do to you when they finally find you, and they will find you for sure out here.
So he turned. Walked away.
One step.
Two.
Three...
He stopped.
“…damn it.”
A sharp breath. Frustrated and Angry. He turned back. Lifted you over his shoulder. “Don’t think this means anything,” he muttered even though you weren't in the place and state to hear or feel anything.
He carried you anyway. And left you at the edge of a nearby village.
Alive.
Safe.
Annoyed beyond reason.
The next day
Zuko stood beside Uncle Iroh once more. “We end this,” Zuko said quietly. Iroh studied him. Then nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “We do.” Their plan was simple. Deceptive, dangerous. Zuko would disappear.
Hidden.
Iroh would not.
When Zhao found him, Iroh played his part perfectly. Calm, respectful.
Grieving.
“My nephew is gone,” Iroh said softly.
Zhao smirked “Unfortunate.” And just like that he believed it. Together, they traveled north. Toward the final battle. Toward destiny as Zhao said.
The North Pole.
Where everything would break. You stood beside your father as he revealed his true plan. Not just the Avatar. Something worse.
“I will kill the Moon Spirit,” Commander Zhao declared.
Silence followed.
Your breath stilled. “…what?” Zhao didn’t look at you. Didn’t even hesitate. “The source of their power. Remove it… and the Water Tribes fall.”
Your stomach turned. A spirit. Not an enemy. Not a soldier. A spirit... “That’s..” you started, then stopped. Too much. For the first time you weren’t sure about you fathers decision.
Iroh stepped forward then his eyes Burned. “You must not do this,” he said. Zhao laughed. “Stop me.”
And Iroh did.
Fire roared to life.bGuards fell. Power surged. But Zhao he succeeded.
The spirit fell.
And the world...Changed. The sky turned red. The ocean stilled. The balance shattered just like that. You stared horrified. What had he done? Zuko appeared then.. Alive. Zhao turned Shock flashing across his face.
“You ” They clashed.
Fire against fire, rage against rage. And you stood between everything.
Your father. Your life. Your purpose..
And him the boy you hated. The boy you should have killed. The boy you saved. Your fists tightened.
What were you supposed to do?
For the first time you didn’t have an answer. And the war didn’t wait. Not for you.
End of part 3
I put both parts in since I had time, let me know how you like it.
Pairing: Zhao's daughter x Prince Zuko (Firelord) Enemies to lovers trope, slow-burn
Synopsis: The daughter of Admiral Zhao and the banished Prince. Will she reach Team Avatar first? Will she lose her father, or be the one to betray him? Will she ever let go of her grudge against Zuko?
One thing is for sure: years later, she’s still the only one who can get away with teasing the Fire Lord.
Part 1
"The Unwanted Guests"
The ocean was restless that night.
Waves struck against Prince Zuko’s ship with a dull, rhythmic force, as if the sea itself was warning him, something was coming.
Zuko stood rigid on the deck, still catching his breath. His first encounter with the Avatar… and he had lost him. The boy had slipped through his fingers.
Again.
His fists trembled, not from exhaustion, but from rage.
“I had him,” Zuko muttered. “I had him!”
Behind him, Uncle Iroh calmly set down his teacup, as if the prince hadn’t just nearly frozen to death chasing a mythical figure across the Southern seas.
“Yes, yes,” Iroh said mildly. “And now you will have some tea.”
“I don’t want tea!” Zuko snapped.
Iroh blinked. “Thats upsetting.”
Zuko turned away sharply, pacing. “No one can know. Do you understand me? No one. If word gets out—”
“It already has.” iroh whispered while sipping his tea.
Zuko froze.
Slowly, he turned back. “What?”
Iroh didn’t answer immediately. He simply looked past Zuko, out toward the horizon. At first, Zuko saw nothing.
Then
Lights.
Multiple.
Ships....
Fire Nation warships.
His eyes widened.
“No…”
The lead ship cut through the water like a blade, larger, prouder, unmistakable.
Zuko’s expression darkened instantly.
“Commander Zhao,” he growled.
Iroh exhaled softly. “Ah. I was hoping for pirates.”
The ships docked with calculated precision.
Boots hit the deck.
Fire Nation soldiers flooded in,but they parted quickly, forming a path.
Zhao stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back, posture relaxed, but commanding.
And beside him...
You.
You didn’t rush.
You never rushed.
A year older than Zuko, yet infinitely more composed, you walked onto his ship like you already owned it. Your eyes swept across the deck once taking in everything.
Damage, Fatigue, Tension,
And then
Him.
Zuko.
Your lips curved.
Just slightly.
“Prince Zuko,” Zhao greeted smoothly. “What a surprise.”
Zuko stiffened. “Commander Zhao. To what do I owe this… intrusion?”
Zhao chuckled. “Such hostility. I’m merely here to investigate rumors.”
Zuko’s eyes narrowed. “What rumors?”
Silence.
Then
You stepped forward.
“The admiral doesn't own you an explanation, prince.”
Your voice cut through the air, cool, controlled, and unmistakably familiar.
Zuko’s breath hitched.
Not in fear.
In recognition.
Slowly, his gaze shifted to you.
And there you were.
Exactly as he remembered.
Sharp eyes. Sharper smile.
Unchanged.
“Still pretending you don't know why were here?” you asked softly.
Zuko’s jaw clenched. “You shouldn’t be here, there is nothing in this ship.”
You tilted your head. “then you won't mind us keep going with the search”
Iroh watched the exchange carefully, saying nothing, but also missing nothing.
His gaze lingered on you a moment longer than necessary.
So.
It was you. (He knew they were being closely watched)
Zhao gestured lazily toward the ship. “We received reports of unusual activity. Strange lights. Disturbances.”
Zuko crossed his arms. “We encountered nothing.”
You smiled wider.
Lie.
“Really?” you said. “Because your ship tells a different story.”
You stepped past him without permission, fingers brushing lightly along a scorched section of railing.
“Damage. Fresh.”
Another step.
“Crew exhausted.”
Another.
“And you…” You stopped in front of him, looking up just slightly. “You look like you lost something.”
Zuko’s glare burned. “Get off my ship.”
You leaned in just enough for only him to hear, towering over him.
“Or what?” you whispered. “You’ll fail again?”
His hand twitched, fire threatening to spark. But Zhao’s presence held him back. Iroh stepped in then, smiling warmly.
“Welcome, welcome! Such unexpected guests. You must be freezing. Tea?”
Zhao waved him off. “Spare me.” But you glanced at Iroh. Studied him. And for a brief moment.. you smiled.
“Tea sounds lovely.”
Iroh’s eyes twinkled.
“Ah,” he said. “A person of culture.” Zuko shot him a look. “Uncle—”
But Iroh was already pouring. Inspection continued. Soldiers moved through the ship, checking supplies, questioning crew. Zhao circled slowly, like a predator pretending not to hunt. Zuko stood rigid, every muscle tight.
You, however you wandered.
Careless, curious, dangerous. You already knew the truth. You had known before you stepped onto this ship. Before Zhao even gave the order. You had watched Zuko long enough to recognize the shift. The moment everything changed.
The moment he found the Avatar.
You stopped beside him again eventually. “Tell me,” you said lightly, “did you at least get close?”
Zuko didn’t answer. Didn’t look at you. That was answer enough. You hummed softly.
“Pathetic.”
His head snapped toward you. “Say that again.” You met his gaze without hesitation you repeated sharper.
“Pathetic.”
Across the deck, Iroh watched, expression calm, but eyes sharp. He stepped forward again, placing himself just slightly between you.
Not obvious.
But intentional.
“My nephew has had a long day,” Iroh said gently. “Perhaps we should all rest.”
Zhao scoffed. “We’re not here for comfort.”
“No,” Iroh agreed pleasantly. “You are here for something much more uncomfortable admiral.”
A beat.
Zhao narrowed his eyes.
You, however, only smiled.
Because you had already found what you came for.
Not proof. Not evidence. Something better.
Confirmation.
You turned back to Zhao. “There’s nothing here,” you said smoothly. Zuko blinked. Zhao frowned. “Nothing?” You shrugged lightly. “Just a frustrated banished prince chasing ghosts.”
Your gaze flicked to Zuko brief, sharp, knowing.
“But no Avatar.”
Zhao studied you, then nodded.
“Very well.”
Zuko didn’t relax, not for a second.
Because he knew.
You knew.
As Zhao prepared to leave, you lingered behind.
Of course you did.
Zuko watched you carefully.
“Why?” he demanded quietly. “Why cover for me?”
You paused at the edge of the ship.
Didn’t turn. At first. But then you glanced back.
And your smile.. It wasn’t kind nor merciful. It was worse.
“I don’t want him taking you away from me,” you said softly.
Zuko’s expression darkened. “What?”
You stepped closer again, voice dropping just enough.
“You’re mine to ruin.”
A pause.
“Not his.”
Then you turned and left just like that. The ships pulled away, the ocean swallowed them and silence returned. Zuko stood frozen. Iroh approached slowly, hands behind his back.
“Well,” he said, “that went… better than expected.”
Zuko didn’t respond, his eyes were still locked on the horizon,on where you had disappeared.
“She knows,” he said finally.
Iroh nodded.
“Yes.”
Zuko’s fists clenched.
“Then why didn’t she say anything?", Iroh smiled faintly.
“Because,” he said, “some games are more enjoyable when they are not ended too quickly.”
Far away, on your ship u stood beside Zhao once more.
“Set course,” he ordered and you obeyed.
But your mind was elsewhere...On a boy with a scar...the prince without a throne. The shame of the fire nation. Who for some reason still kept trying.
You smiled to yourself.
“Run, Zuko,” you murmured softly to the wind. “Find the Avatar.”
-
“Try to win.”
Because you would be there. Every step of the way.
End of Part 1
That's for tonight, let me know how you like it and how you would want me to continue. Any ideas are welcome. (I'm sorry for any mistakes). If someone wants to get tagged, let me know in the comments. (I lowkey think I'll make about 5 parts, so it's a slow burn ;)
