Chapter Text
The hall outside the birthing room is quiet, almost unnervingly so. Mom stopped screaming a quite a while ago now. She is exhausted, they explained to him. Zuko is sitting on the polished bench, legs swinging just above the floor, clutching his hands together and trying very hard to not make much noise. Beside him, Uncle Iroh sits in his usual calm repose, while Lu Ten, twelve and tall for his age, leans slightly against the wall, trying to keep his voice low as they murmur to each other. Zuko isn’t sure why they bother. He doesn’t understand them half of the time, both his uncle and cousin like to not only use grown up words, but also weird saying that sound more like the beginnings of fairy tales than normal conversations.
It really had been an awfully long time since Mom went quiet, Zuko notes. Carefully, he tugs at uncle Iroh’s sleeve.
“Uncle… is Mom going to be okay?”
Uncle Iroh glances down at him and his warm, round face is calm as always. “Yes, little prince. Your mother is a very strong lady. Everything will be fine.”
Lu Ten nods, shifting to sit down close to him. “That’s right, Zuzu. Don’t worry. And she’s in good hands, we have the best doctors here. Just wait a little bit more and you will get to hug your mom and your new brother or sister."
Zuko nods, frowning in thought. He had never seen Mom in pain before, so it was scary when she was carried inside, screaming and crying. But it was even scarier when she stopped, with only rare low groans slipping in the hall. Hopefully, she really was tired, he thought. Zuko also gets quiet after crying for too long.
Eventually, the quiet, comforting murmurs of Iroh and Lu Ten lull him into a drowsy state. His eyes flutter shut, and soon he is asleep on the bench, leaning against Lu Ten’s warm side.
Then comes the screaming.
It tears through the hall, a raw, unbearable sound, shrill and full of grief and rage. Zuko bolts upright, his heart hammering despite eyes still half glued with sleep.
Uncle Iroh is gone. Only Lu Ten remains. His cousin scoops Zuko into his arms, clutching him tightly to his chest.
“What? What’s happening?” Zuko whispers, voice shaking.
Lu Ten says nothing, only holds him tighter, as if to shield from the sound that had shattered the calm. Zuko’s little legs kick out, but he can’t do anything against the force of his cousin’s hug, however much he wants to get out and run towards Mom’s screams. He starts crying too, demanding to know what is happening, but there is no answer, no comfort beyond the steady pressure of Lu Ten’s arms. The screaming seems endless, echoing in the corridor and in Zuko’s chest.
And then, as abruptly as it had begun, the wailing stops.
******
A couple of days later, the world seems smaller, heavier and somehow colder, despite the middle of the summer. Zuko sweats in his tiny white funeral robes, toes curling on the heated stone floor, and stands still, staring at the small pyre.
It is a tiny thing, hardly bigger than a fruit basket that Mom sometimes takes with her when they sit by the turtleduck pond. It glows with fire and heat. The body atop it had been wrapped in prettiest silks and carried here with ceremony, but Zuko doesn’t understand much of that. He doesn’t understand why anyone would die just because they were being born.
He is kind of angry because no one even let him take a look at his little sister’s face, before putting her onto the pyre, but he keeps that anger to himself. Everyone is already upset as it is.
Mom kneels by the pyre, her wails echo against everyone’s silence. She was crying for days now, only stopping when doctors forced her to drink weird teas that make her sleepy. Zuko had never heard her cry like this, not to mention for so long. His mother’s body shakes, shoulders trembling, as Lu Ten gently keeps her from getting too close to fire. And the sound pierces him in a way he didn’t know how to name.
Father stands a few steps back, hands clasped behind his back, face pale but cold, his expression unreadable except for the trace of disgust Zuko could recognize even from afar, but struggles to understand.
Zuko tugs at Iroh’s sleeve, hiding slightly behind him. “Uncle, how… how could she die if she was just being born? Isn’t that supposed to only happen to old people?”
Uncle Iroh’s face softens, shadows crossing his usually gentle features. “Death takes everyone, Zuko There isn’t always a pattern, and it doesn’t always wait for a proper time.”
Zuko’s small voice trembles as he asks the question that kept him up ever since he realised he is never going to hold his little sister. “Am I going to die too?”
Iroh crouches to meet his eyes, hand on Zuko’s shoulder. “No, Zuko. Not so soon. You are strong and healthy little boy, full of life. You and Lu Ten will get to live long, happy lives. The war will be won by old men like myself.”
Zuko’s brows knit together. The war? What is it? He wonders, but the question stays stuck in his throat. Uncle Iroh had already stepped away to aid the Fire Sage in reading rites, Zuko doesn’t have the courage to interrupt.
His eyes drift back to Lu Ten, still standing close to Mom, pale-faced but composed. Maybe he can ask his cousin later instead, when it’s safe to talk. Lu Ten is slightly better at explaining things than uncle. But for now, all Zuko can do is clench his hands into fists hard, and watch the flames rise, tall and solemn, burning away someone he never even got to meet.
********
Lu Ten’s boots echo sharply along the polished corridors of the Caldera’s palace. He had returned for the holidays, finally free to leave the Royal Academy for Boys behind for the next week, and yet his mind isn’t on the lessons he will need to report to grandfather or friends left behind. He keeps thinking about Zuko instead.
He had not been here for the majority of the tragedy’s aftermath, going back to academy only a week after aunt Ursa’s stillbirth. But the image of little Zuko sitting alone outside the birthing room haunted him for the whole three months that passed since then. Zuko must have been all alone now too, with aunt Ursa rumored to be still grief-stricken and often bed-bound, while uncle Ozai is surely acting like a distant jerk that he is. Even dad was away for yet another campaign in Earth Kingdom. And thinking about grandfather comforting anyone, let alone tiny, soft hearted Zuko was ridiculous. So yeah, Lu Ten kept regretting every moment he had spent away, buried in scrolls and lectures, while his baby cousin needed him.
He pauses at a passing maid, straightening his posture and offering a polite nod. “Excuse me. Have you seen Prince Zuko?”
The maid hesitates, her spine bent in a low bow, while her eyes are flicking nervously toward the hall. “Yes. He’s… resting. In Lady Sukar’s room.”
Lu Ten frowns. “Sukar? His old nursemaid? But he’s already weaned. Why would he be there?”
The maid’s lips press into a thin line. For a moment, she seems to consider saying more, before bowing even lower and explaining in a soft, scared voice. “Prince Zuko doesn’t nurse anymore, Your Highness. But after… after Lady Ursa’s loss, he grew… needy. There are periods of time when he requires someone’s full attention.”
Lu Ten’s brow furrows further. “Needy?”
“Sometimes it’s like he’s back to being a newborn,” she admits, voice trembling slightly. “We think that perhaps he’s grieving in his own way? Or missing Lady Ursa’s attention?”
Lu Ten feels a tightness in his chest. He had expected sadness, perhaps tears, but not this… regression. Zuko had only recently started to speak. He was a smart kid, but awfully shy, and it took a longer time then usual to coax the words out of him. Hearing that he went back to silence is heartbreaking. A part of him wants to rush to Zuko immediately, to scoop him up in his arms and make the grief vanish, but he knows it’s impossible.
“Thank you,” he says softly. He doesn’t wait for further explanation, turning down the corridor toward the servant’s wing where Sukar’s room lies. The palace seems emptier than it should have been, shadows stretching along the walls, the very air heavy with loss.
And Lu Ten, the oldest of his generation of royal family, the heir of the Dragon of the West, feels burdened by a growing sense of helplessness. He wishes dad was home.
**********
The sunlight beams down on the polished wood of the small garden's tea table. This corner of the palace is more private than most, as it used to belong to his Seri, who always loved the quiet. Iroh sits across from Lu Ten at a low table, steam curling from their tea cups. The scent is exquisite as always. For the first time in months, he had taken a break from the warring campaigns, hoping to enjoy a few quiet days with his family.
But the quiet is not peaceful.
Lu Ten contemplates his tea absentmindedly, usually radiant eyes distant, as brows are slightly drawn together. Iroh studies him quietly for a moment before speaking. “What weighs on you, son?”
The boy sighs and puts down the teacup, finally meeting Iroh’s gaze.
“It’s about Zuko,” he admits. His voice is low, almost fragile. “I… I’ve been worried for him since my last holidays. The servants told me he hasn’t changed. It’s been almost half a year now, but he… he still regresses.”
Iroh nods slowly, letting the words hang in the air. “Regresses?”
Lu Ten’s fingers clench as he grabs the teacup again. “Yes, sometimes he becomes like a newborn. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t really move either, apparently he barely crawls. He’s clingy. Needy. And when I hoped that he might have gotten better this visit… he hasn’t changed a bit.”
Iroh’s heart tightens. He had no idea, too far away with the war effort, and hearing about it from Lu Ten comes like a shock. Zuko had always promised to be a shy, sensitive child, but Iroh would have never guessed he would react this strongly.
“I suggested to aunt Ursa that Zuko needs to be seen by the royal physicians,” Lu Ten continues, his voice darkening slightly. “But apparently she was trying to do that for a while now, but wasn’t able to convince uncle Ozai. And now I… I don’t understand how Ozai can be so heartless to both her and Zuko after such a loss!”
Iroh reaches across the table, placing a steady hand over Lu Ten’s. “Lu Ten, Ozai has always been… difficult,” he said gently. “But I’m sure that he grieves in his own way, though it may not be visible. Perhaps he simply carries his pain in silence.”
But Lu Ten’s face doesn’t relax as he mutters, with a trace of bitterness slipping through, into his tone, “He could have been less of an asshole while doing that, then.”
Iroh’s lips twitch in a small smile. His son’s strong sense of justice never failed to endear Iroh, but seeing that to be directed at his surly little brother was almost amusing. “Perhaps. Perhaps I also will speak with him about Zuko. I’m sure he will hear me out.”
At that, Lu Ten finally exhales, a fraction of previous tension leaving his shoulders. Iroh sips his tea, letting the warmth settle him, and watches the sunlight shine in the liquid. The whole palace felt heavy with unspoken grief for a while now, but he can’t help but hope that everything will resolve itself eventually.
*******
Ursa’s hands tremble as she pushes open the heavy doors of Ozai’s office. She is fleeing, her voice raw from arguing, her heart pounding anxiously. She had pleaded, begged, even tried fighting with him, but everything was in naught. Zuko needed to be seen by the royal physicians, someone with knowledge of children and grief, someone who could help him, but Ozai just has to be so stubborn.
He had dismissed her coldly, once again. She knew that he would not relent. Both Lu Ten and Iroh had also already tried but failed. Firelord Azulon was probably the only man alive capable of forcing his will on Ozai, but the old bastard would never move a finger for anyone’s good.
Eventually, the arguments with Ozai grew fiercer and snappier, until today, when he directly threw their daughter’s death in her face for the first time. He implied it many times by now, but that was the first time he was so cruelly direct.
“You failed!” his words had cut through her like fire. “You couldn’t even give birth to a live child, and now your weakling firstborn son is turning into some degenerate on top of it!”
Ursa’s chest aches. Both the sting of his words, the weight of failure presses down on her. She could not stay, could not bear another second in that suffocating room. Without looking back, she fled the office. And now she is here, borderline running through corridors aimlessly. Perhaps, she needs air. Maybe she should go to the gardens. Or maybe she needs someone to hold onto. A shred of warmth in this Agniforsaken palace.
With that, Ursa’s feet instinctively carry her to Zuko’s room. The familiar corridor, the polished floors, the muted light through the latticed windows — all of it feels like a small, fragile haven from the cruelty outside. Her little garden in the middle of a burned down wasteland.
She pushes the door open only to freeze at the sight.
Zuko is there, on the floor, curled slightly and clinging to his small blanket. His movements are slow, hesitant, and oddly infantile. His hands reach out for her, grabbing at her robes as she approaches, but his grip is weak and hesitant. As if he had just learned how to grasp again. He whimpers softly, incomprehensible baby sounds slipping past his lips. His brilliant eyes look up at her and they are wide, searching and fragile. Thoughtless.
He is in one of his “moods” again.
Not the earnest two-year-old boy. Whenever in this state, he gets younger, even more helpless. Like a newborn, lost and small, and in need of constant attention.
With a shaky sighs, Ursa sinks to the floor beside him and wraps him in her arms, holding her son close. His tiny body trembles against her, and she feels tears slip freely down her own cheeks.
“I’m so sorry, Zuko,” she whispers, voice breaking. “I’ve let you down, again. I can’t protect you. I… I wish she had lived.”
She presses her cheek to his head, inhaling the faint scent of him, his baby-soft skin, with faint traces of fresh garden grass and powder. “You would have been a great brother to her,” she murmurs, her voice trembling with grief and longing. “I know you would have loved her. And Azula would have loved you.”
Zuko makes a small, incomprehensible sound, nuzzling closer to her chest. Ursa holds him tighter, rocking slightly and letting herself grieve for a moment. Her shame, fear, and sorrow pour out safely in that quiet room. Their little haven.
Outside, the palace continues its indifferent rhythm, but here, in Zuko’s room, she can simply cry and hold him.
*******
Soft lights. Soft hands. Warm. A small weight presses against her. The woman is back. She loves the woman.
Hands. Hands everywhere. Gentle, soft. Close. Holding. Holding her. They are warm.
A voice. Soft. Thin. Quivering. Words? She does not know. She tries, tries to listen, to make sense. But the sounds spin around, twist. And most voices lost patience quickly. They get hot and sharp. But not this. Always gentle. Always sad.
The warmth is… nice. Yes. Comfort. She likes it, to be pressed close to her. Soft hands, but strong, steady. Safe. She likes it, curls into them.
Soft murmurs. Crying. Something fragile, something wet. She does not understand. Nothing makes sense, not even sad sounds of the woman.
The hands shift. The weight shifts. She can feel a heartbeat. It’s fast and loud, but she likes it anyway. She stays still, listening to the woman’s heart. Warm. She wants to be held. The woman should never let her go.
Words again. Soft, trembling, wet. She catches one, maybe. It feels important for some reason. She wants to remember it.
Azula. She likes how it sounds.
Warm. Close. Safe. She is held. She is close. The woman is crying still. She likes her anyway.
**********
The sun had barely risen, but the training courtyard already feels stuffy. Zuko stands rigid, with his fists clenched at his sides, as he is staring at the wooden practice dummy in front of him. His tutor demonstrated the motions again, slow and deliberate, the most basic beginner kata, nothing more. But no matter how much Zuko tried to mirror it, his hands remain void of fire, the air and dummy stubbornly unlit.
He bites his lip, heart hammering. It had been months since Father had made his frustration clear, and Zuko still didn’t manage to produce a single spark. Father rarely looked at him, barely gave him any time except for when he voiced his disapproval, and Zuko knew that soon it would definitely get only worse. Father might stop noticing him entirely, might stop acknowledging his existence at all, and the only way to fix this would be unlocking his firebending.
He is a bender. He knows this. He does! The candleflames move in sync with his breathing, he once even put them out without a single touch. No matter what people might whisper about behind his back, Zuko knows he is a bender. He just needs to get the stupid fire out.
Desperation twists in his chest. He repeats the stupid kata over and over, again and again, his stupid arms moving in the same stupid awkward arcs, stupid feet planted precisely as instructed. And yet nothing. Every attempt ends in failure.
By the noon, the tutor looks bored out of his mind and his voice gets increasingly annoyed as he repeats the instructions over and over again. Tears start to prickle Zuko’s eyes, hot and unrelenting. His breath hitches. “Why can’t I just do it?” he whispers to himself, voice shaking both with restrained sobbing and exhaustion.
And then, fast like a spark, his vision blurs. His limbs go heavy, his world dark.
When he comes back to himself, the courtyard is changed. Standing before him, impossibly tall, with shadow looming over the sun itself, is Father. He is staring right at Zuko, with face unreadable and stern, and Zuko’s chest constricts with fear and embarrassment. What is going on? How did he miss Father’s arrival? Did he see his sad attempts to bend? For how long?
But beside Father is standing the tutor, and the man is actually smiling, enthusiastic, ecstatic even.
“Remarkable!” the tutor exclaims. “See, Your Highness? Prince Zuko’s enormous efforts finally paid off! And while I must say that such diligence at his young age is commendable in on itself, he definitely has the talent too!”
Zuko’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He blinks, trying to make sense of what is happening. He can’t. The tutor doesn’t make any sense with his praise. Not even a little bit.
“Now that he finally produced fire we can start actually preparing him for the academy” the tutor continues, beaming. “Looks like all he needed is some confidence, because, once he started to actually bend, his form became impeccable! Prince Zuko clearly has talent, he simply needs to overcome his nerves!”
Father listened to all of it without a single twitch on his face. His eyes kept bearing into Zuko, sharp as blades, throughout all of the tutor’s happy rambling. With a single gesture he made the man fall silent. He then gave Zuko a sharp nod. “Good to see that you can actually perform, when you really want to,” he says, voice painfully cold. “Now work harder. Do not waste your potential,” And with that cryptic instruction, he sweeps out of the hall, leaving Zuko to tremble in silence.
The tutor’s smile fades, and with a quick glance at Zuko, he runs out too, seemingly intent to follow Father.
Zuko’s chest heaves. His hands suddenly smart faintly for a moment, some stray sparks lingering on his fingertips before vanishing. He stares at his palms for a long minute, unable to believe that sparks were actually there. But when he tries to summon them again, nothing happens.
And it’s not even the worst thing.
He can't remember bending at all. He can’t remember producing the flames. He can’t remember anything that happened after he blacked out, seemingly just a moment ago, but probably much longer if what the tutor told about him showing father his forms is true. A hollow confusion settles in his chest.
“What just happened?” he whispers, voice shaking.
No one answers. Only the faint scent of smoke lingers, just like the echo of his own panic on the empty courtyard.
********
The morning light shines weakly through Zuko’s window, illuminating the scattered toys and practice scrolls across the floor. He sits cross-legged, trying to remember what he had been doing yesterday, but the memory is slippery, like a garden slugsnake slipping through clumsy fingers.
He frowns, rubbing at his temples. Even now, he doesn’t remember eating breakfast, and yet his stomach is full and satisfied. He doesn’t remember leaving his room last night, and yet somehow he woke up curled in the corner of a small, unused chamber that he barely recognized. His toys are always being moved these days, his clothes rearranged, the homework scrawled across the table in ways he can’t recall doing. Whole hours, sometimes even entire days, feel missing from his mind.
It was unsettling at first, and gets scarier and scarier with each passing day. A terrified little voice at the back of his mind whispers that he might be sick, or crazy, or both. It gets louder with every new oddity spotted by him. He doesn’t want to listen to it anyway.
And… There are also other oddities he wishes he could ignore. Sometimes, at the edges of his awareness, he hears a giggling High, quick, almost like it belongs to a girl, but every time he tries to listen carefully, it dissolves before he can focus properly. Too faint and light.
Sometimes, when he catches his reflection in the mirror, there is a flicker. The strange feeling that he should be seeing two faces staring back out of the smooth surface, not one. It’s like there is constantly a ghostly echo of someone else, hidden behind his shoulder and always watching.
He had tried to ask about it once. The question had slipped out on its own, before he could stop and think. Sitting by the turtleduck with his mom, he asked if there could be any little girl ghosts in the palace.
But mom had flinched, pale as a sheet, and retreated quickly to her chambers, trembling all the way through. Zuko didn’t try to ask again after that.
Now, sitting alone in his room, he hugs his knees and shivers slightly. He doesn’t understand what is happening to him. He only knows that sometimes, just sometimes, it feels like he is not completely alone in his own body. That he doesn’t even really control it anymore. That there is someone else, small and distant, always lingered just beyond reach.
He shakes his head, trying to chase away both the feeling and inevitable tears. Nothing makes sense. He is scared and confused, and there is no one who can help him. He doesn’t want to upset mom anymore, and Father is obviously not an option. Uncle Iroh is far away, busy with war. And Lu Ten is in that academy of his, so he might as well be in Earth Kingdom too. Zuko really can’t wait to go there too, even if only to not be so alone all the time.
Frustrated, he buries himself in his messy sheets, not even bothering to change clothes. What is the point? The chances are, he will wake up redressed anyway. The palace is quiet, still, and stuffy. It’s an old place that makes all sorts of sounds, and as always, Zuko feels the subtle weight of another presence settling nearby. Always near, always unseen. He knows it’s not just his imagination. And this knowledge makes him scared in ways he can’t even start to explain.
********
Zuko slams his fists into the air, voice sharply bouncing off the walls of his room.
“Stop hiding! Show yourself!”
Nothing.
The past week of the festival had passed in a blur. He had missed nearly all of it, entire days that should have been filled with laughter and games are a dark void instead. And now, finally awake, he decides that he had enough. But the air remains stubbornly empty, as if mocking him with silence.
He tries with a mirror then, staring into it’s small surface for a long time, hissing, demanding, begging. Nothing works. No one answers.
Frustrated, he crawls back into bed, letting the heavy covers envelope him. Even despite missing a whole week of his life, his body feels exhausted, desperate for sleep. As if he wasn;t doing that already, thanks to the thieving ghost. So this exhaustion only makes him angrier. He grits his teeth, glaring at the ceiling, until sleep finally claims him again. Whatever dreams he has are uneasy, anxious, and restless.
When he opens his eyes again, he is not in his room.
The air is cooler, crisper. He is in the forest. The sky hangs low in the colors of twilight, dim and quiet. The only faint light around is not from the sun, but from a small firepit at the center of the clearing on the edges of which he woke up. The meadow itself looks unfamiliar, it’s wide and shadowed, with soft lush grass brushing his knees as he kneels in confusion.
He hesitated, before starting to inch closer to the firepit. It might be a weird dream, but he is sure he will feel better by fire.
Almost half way to it, he freezes.
On the opposite side of the meadow, a girl stands. She looks straight at him as she carefully circles the fire, but never comes too close to it. Her amber eyes are calm and curious. Her silky black hair catches the faint glow of the flames, haloed in their flickering light. Zuko blinks. There is something odd about her. She looks weirdly familiar, but he can’t recall ever seeing her face. It’s only when she is all but three steps away from him, when the realisation hits. He knows why she looks familiar. Her face is his face. Except for the smallest of details, they look painfully similar. Almost like siblings.
A shiver runs down his spine. Half-forgotten memories of months and months of waiting to play with his baby sister only to never even get a look arise, sudden and stark.
But why? Why would he even dream of something so weird?
The girl stops when she stands right before him. He looks up at her, feeling mute and dumb with confusion. She surprises him again, by pouting and crossing her arms. There is a childish disappointment on her face. When she speaks, her voice is sharp, playful, and impossibly confident. Just like faint girlish giggles he hears sometimes.
“Took you long enough to get in here, dum-dum.”
Zuko’s mouth opens. Nothing comes out. He squeezes his eyes shut, hard, unsure if he really is just dreaming or something far stranger is happening.
When he opens his eyes, he is still at the meadow, and the girls is still staring at him. Her amber eyes sparkle gold in the firelight, and the faintest smirk tugs at the corner of her lips, so similar to his own. And looking at her like this, he knows, somehow, that even if he can’t explain why or how - this is real.
He really was never alone, after all.
******
“Took you long enough to get in here, dum-dum.”
Azula’s lips curls into a mischievous smirk as she watches Zuko freeze, eyes wide in disbelief. She feels a thrill that makes her chest flutter. Finally, someone to talk to! Someone who could see her, hear her, with her real face on .
But Zuko, determined to be slow, just blinks at her. “Who… who are you?”
Azula huffs, exasperated. Looks like she is going to need to explain everything to him.
“I’m Azula, obviously.”
“Azula? And how is that obvious? I have never seen you!” he snaps, frowning.
“Because you’re a dum-dum!” she retorts, angry herself. If Zuko was just a little smarter, a little more observant, he would have noticed her a long time ago. Neither of them would have to spend time alone then. She would have someone to call her by an actual name, instead of his stupid one. They would share their secret, and things would be much easier. Much more fun too.
So she straightens her posture, puffing her chest a little. “First of all, you will call me by my name. Always.”
Zuko hesitates., but before he can anger her any further, he redeems himself with a surprised question “Why would I call you anything else?”
Her grin widens. Finally! Someone gets it.
Zuko, oblivious to her joy, frowns. “So will you tell me what is happening? Where are we?”
Azula rolls her eyes. Of course he would chose to focus on unimportant things, instead of getting to know her.
“I don’t really know. This meadow was always here, and it always stays the same. I like fire better.”
At least it shifts and changes, sometimes growing brighter and bigger, sometimes shrinking to a tiny wisps of flame. It never stays the same.
Zuko nods slowly, making Azula’s pulse skip a beat in its excitement. Maybe he is not so slow after all!.
“I like it better too.”
But then he has to ruin it by stepping toward the firepit.
Well, forget it then. He is slow.
Azula lunges forward, pushing him back sharply. “Not yet! Don’t go near the firepit!”
Both of them freeze. Zuko blinks, seemingly startled by the strength of her touch. If Azula had to guess, he probably still thinks he is dreaming and is surprised that the girl from his weird dream felt real . Azula’s own heart thuds too. It was the first time her own hands had truly touched someone else, and it was… disorienting. While Zuko’s hands felt like hers, when she was in charge, they weren’t really hers. She kind of wants to touch him again, but she figures the dum-dum will probably get scared or something. She crosses her arms on her chest instead.
“Why not?” Zuko asks.
“Getting close to the firepit pushes you into the real world,” Azula explains, rolling her eyes. “Keep up, dum-dum.” She pauses, thinking for the moment, before elaborating: “For example, last time I sat by the pit I got to go to the festival.”
It was incredible. Azula had only ever been in the palace, confined mostly to Zuko’s room, eating hall and training courtyard, only sometimes getting to curl by mother’s side at the turtleduck pond or wander the palace halls at nights.
The festival felt like another world entirely, chokeful of colors and music.
But instead of relaxing with explanation, Zuko’s eyes widened. His mouth thins in obvious anger.
“So it was you? You are stealing my time!”
Azula feels her own anger flare up at that.
“Sharing some fun is the least you can do! I keep getting you out of trouble with Father by doing the bending instead of you!”
Zuko freezes, realization finally dawning. Good. It’s better for him to understand just how much she does for his sake.
But then Azula notes the half guilty half contemplative look on his face and sighs inwardly. His face is entirely too honest, and she doesn’t know why. She has no trouble hiding her thoughts even while wearing his face.
After a long, awkward pause, Zuko’s voice is hesitant, almost shy.
“Uh… thanks. For helping me.”
She probably should demand for a better apology, preferably with him singing her praises. But the sudden warmth that blooms in Azula’s chest at his clumsy words startles her into silence. It’s stupidly good to be thanked, to be acknowledged.
But he just has to ruin everything again, because the next moment Zuko adds, with a surly scowl on his stupid face: “But you can’t continue hogging so much of my time either. It’s… scary. And unfair.”
Azula rolls her eyes again. What does Zuko even knows about being scared? About fairness? He gets to live in the palace all the time. To eat the best food. To read whatever he wants. To sleep in his nice bed, with all of his toys here, after getting a goodnight kiss from mother. To be called by his name.
“Big baby,” she hisses. “I’m alone all the time otherwise! What do you want to do then? How is it fair? Only one of us can sit at the firepit at a time!”
Zuko chews his lip nervously, and a small pitying look sparkles in his eyes. For some reason, instead of making her feel vindicated, that pity only fans the flames of her anger bigger. She has to give her everything to keep herself from pouncing on Zuko and beating him up, until he is nothing but tears and snot.
“Maybe we can split our time? Can’t we share?” Zuko suggests, painfully unaware of her thoughts.
Azula sighs. Considers it. The more she thinks about the offer, the weaker her anger gets, until there is nothing but a heap of smoldering cinder in her chest.
“Fine,” she grumbles. “But don’t you dare to go back on your words.”
********
Breakfast is a blur. Father’s sharp gaze, chilly in its calculating, was prickling at his face like needles.
“Today you will show me your progress in firebending. It has been almost four months since you started bending. The results will decide whether you are fit for being enrolled into Royal fire academy for boys or if you will only shame my name in there,” Father says, voice calm but merciless.
Zuko feels cold all over, with his stomach knotting tight and chest aching. He still can’t even produce fire on his own. Azula always takes over on lessons with tutor, while Zuko fruitlessly trains in his own room later. But he never managed it. Not even a single spark. He can’t do it. Not today, not in front of Father.
As he walks toward the courtyard, each step feels impossibly heavy, weighted down with dread. Every flicker of Father’s gaze feels like fire on his skin. The tutor already stands ready when they arrive, cheerful and unaware of the storm twisting inside Zuko’s gut.
“I was planning to teach the young prince a new kata today, but since Your Highness will be present to evaluate his progress, we might start with demonstrating those that he already learned…” the tutor suggests, but Father silences him with a sharp gesture of his hand.
“No need. If prince Zuko is unable to instantly grasp this new kata of yours, his previous “progress” doesn’t matter either.”
Zuko grimaces. He is in so much trouble. Everything will be over if he doesn’t change right now.
But how? He never gave the control up on his own. Azula always took over by herself. Desperately, he starts begging in his mind.
Please, Azula, take over. Please, before it’s too late!
And then it happened. Just like that. Abrupt. Sudden. Scarily easy.
One second, he was in the courtyard, the hot sun scorching his bare shoulders and cicadas chirping in a lazy rhythm. And in the next, he is somewhere else entirely. The world around had shifted, now quiet and unreal. The air is cool and still. The only sound is the soft crackling of a firepit at the center of a familiar twilight meadow.
For a moment, he hesitates, heart hammering. He inhales and exhales carefully, trying to connect to the inner fire he should have in his stomach. He doesn’t feel particularly different, but his heartbeat calms somewhat. Slowly, he approaches the fire.
And there she is. Azula is sitting cross-legged beside the flames, eyes are closed, body relaxed in its meditative stance. And her face is distant and serene, as if she is asleep, dreaming.
Zuko shifts in his place, awkwardly. He doesn’t have the courage to get any closer to the fire, afraid that he will be pulled back right into the middle of the lesson. He sits down on the grass a bit further away, making sure to keep watching Azula in case something changes. But the tension in his chest is already easing slightly. Her presence feels oddly grounding, like her calmness is infectious and somehow anchored him in a way he can’t quite explain.
Zuko waits.