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“You’re going to have a younger sibling.”
Her mother delivered her announcement with the same reserved smile as always, but the self-satisfaction laced in her voice made it quite clear that there was to be a drastic shift in their household: a shift that Lady Michi believes would make their lives better.
Mai was far from ignorant. Years of accompanying her parents to parties and parading their little family of three meant she got to listen to them come up with polite responses to questions that progressively became more invasive as she grew up alone—no brother or sister in tow.
She knew that providing another child was a sensitive topic for her mother, try as she might to play it off otherwise. She knew that whenever Michi would excuse herself under the guise of wanting fresh air, she would lament over not having been blessed with fertility.
Though right now, if Mai were to be honest with herself, she can’t help but take the news as a betrayal of sorts. Turns out she’d be a fool to think that her sole existence was already enough to fulfill the honorable Minister Ukano and Lady Michi’s grand ambitions.
If he was still here, maybe I could have been.
Warm hands. A shy smile. Apple-red cheeks. A splash into the fountain.
In a blink, flashes of hazy summer afternoons vanished as quickly as they came.
Her parents may have lost the opportunity to further their station by having him as a possible son-in-law, but they would never understand how it felt like for Mai to lose a friend and a confidant. They would not have the capacity to care.
They placed almost all their bets on their daughter becoming royalty, but now it was time to cut their losses and invest someplace else.
I guess they're treating this new kid as a contingency plan.
Prince Zuko’s exile was the catalyst for tilting her world off its axis, in more ways than one.
“Congratulations, Mother,” she finally got to reply, perfectly practiced lips set in an upward curve which mirrored the woman across from her. “You must be very happy.”
The months leading up to the arrival of a new addition to their family had been the most blissfully uneventful period in Mai’s thirteen years of existence so far. Her mother was still fussy and quick to find fault in everything, but the lady’s condition ensured that she would remain occupied. As a result, Mai was granted the reprieve of a less packed social calendar.
Instead of attending some mixer hosted by an official’s wife, Lady Michi now spent her days turning the manor upside down in preparation for the birth. From customizing the nursery to placing special orders for toys and clothes, all servants had their hands full.
And though she wanted nothing more than to stay out of it, even Mai herself was dragged into the flurry of activity—being forced to listen in on her mother’s meetings with seamstresses and interior designers.
“Take this as a learning opportunity. Someday, when you’re expecting your own child, you’ll be looking back on my way of handling things,” Michi had said.
The mere thought of ending up just like her mother made her shudder. Being her spitting image was bad enough. But now, Mai could imagine passing on their shared features—the same slanted eyes, sharp chin, down to the same perpetual frown.
Maybe in the future, she'd be entering banquet halls on the arm of some admiral’s son while a child followed in their tracks, always a step behind. Always in their shadow.
Maybe they’d be spending vacations on Ember Island, with her husband using the relaxed atmosphere to his advantage and flatter his way into higher office while Mai and the child would dodge the backhanded compliments thrown their way.
Maybe she'd also have a girl. Maybe she'd be listing another name to the fate all women from their line were subjected to: a running stitch of mothers and daughters forever bound together by the sheer weight of a familial pattern. Nothing but characters in a doomed tapestry.
She had always thought that her father had it easy. Even now, when the whole estate was busy with preparations, the master of the house went about his business as usual—as if he regarded the entire ordeal as something beneath him.
“Decorate the nursery however you like. There’s no need to ask for my preferences,” Ukano once said over dinner. “After all, that’s a womanly concern.”
Ha.
Deep down, even though she found no humor in it, Mai fought the urge to laugh. She started to bite her tongue but caught herself just before the telltale taste of iron crept in. Just before her own blood could call forth the smell of burning flesh. A flaming hand. A young boy’s—
Instead, she shifted her focus to the steel in her sleeves, running her fingers over the well-polished surface. Cool to the touch. Steady and sure.
She must not falter. Her tempered restraint had never failed her before, and it wouldn’t start now.
The moment that her mother deemed capable of turning all her dreams to reality came at last. But for Mai, it really was just another school day.
Or at least it would have been; if the family didn’t pull some strings and convince the academy to let her out early.
Everything seemed like a blur. One minute her mother was impatiently pacing around the room and the next she was screaming so loud, Mai thought one of the healers brought a boarcupine from the Black Cliffs.
“It’s a boy, Madam! Congratulations!”
A squirmy little thing, no bigger than a badgerfrog. His shrill cries were piercing to the ears. Michi reached for Mai’s hand, guiding it towards thin bristles of black hair—a gesture which was equally discomforting.
“Say hello to your baby brother, Mai,” Michi urged her on, wearing the brightest smile Mai had ever seen. Her mother was positively radiant.
Perhaps that was the most discomforting of all.
Mai swallowed hard, casting the baby a disinterested glance. “Hello.”
“Is it done?”
Right on cue, she took her father’s entry as the perfect window of opportunity to release her hand from her mother’s hold; allowing Mai to put some distance between herself and the human badgerfrog as a result.
“Agni blessed us with a son, I heard,” Ukano’s voice practically trembled with excitement, like a little boy gifted his first toy soldier. “A bender?”
You’re in for a round of disappointment, Father.
“The cotton did not light up. My sincerest apologies,” her mother replied, fidgeting slightly on the bed, words veiled with insecurity. She may have just been imagining it, but Mai could’ve sworn she saw Michi hold the newborn closer to her chest, in fear that Ukano would make his dissatisfaction known.
Instead, what her father said next was a surprise to them both.
“Oh, it doesn't matter. You have done well.”
Ukano approached, curling an arm around his wife’s shoulders. It was probably the closest thing to a hug that Mai had seen from them, apart from the performative gestures they would sometimes do at certain events.
Her father kept giving the baby a look so tender; and if she didn't know any better, it almost bordered on loving.
It was a look so unfamiliar to her, never having been on the receiving end of it.
Mai scoffed in disbelief. He wore his smile like an ill-fitting glove. It was unbecoming of him; trying to play the doting father and dependable husband when he already had his chances. Chances he squandered for thirteen years.
But when she saw how much it made her mother happy, how it made her glow as if she were a jeweled ornament brought out into the light after years of gathering dust on the shelf—to finally, finally be recognized for her value, all because she had given him the golden boy he always wanted…
Despite herself, Mai felt an ache bloom in her chest. If she allowed this ache to grow and fester, resentment might just take root and grip her heart even before the child takes his first steps.
Resentment was a feeling that would demand too much from her, though.
So she was willing to settle with indifference.
She watched her parents gush over the swaddled infant as she lingered on the soaked frays of the birthing bed, feeling more like a servant girl who helped deliver the baby and less like a newly minted big sister.
They were lost in a world of their own. Father, mother, son and heir: the picture of a perfect Fire Nation noble family.
While Mai stood in the shadows, a realization dawned on her.
The tapestry was finished. She was the loose thread.
In their typical over-the-top fashion, her parents named the kid Tomi—affectionately known as Tom-Tom: a choice made with the purpose of attracting good fortune. It meant wealth and abundance.
As if they didn’t have enough.
And as luck would have it, her father was called to the palace one day and offered a political appointment—he was to be the colonial governor of some Earth Kingdom city. If he accepted the job, the family would have to leave their Caldera mansion within a week and move the household there.
Itching to be addressed as Governor Ukano, the man was all too eager to say yes.
So for Tom-Tom’s second birthday, her mother spared no expense.
Personally, Mai failed to see the point in having circus performers at the party when the boy’s brain wasn’t yet developed enough to forge a lasting impression. But as their aristocratic guests kept ooh-ing and aah-ing at the lion vultures, the pieces finally clicked.
Ah, seems like Titles over toddlers was still the family motto. If it weren’t oh-so-expected of their dearest mother and father, she could almost feel sorry for the kid.
Just a tiny bit.
In her defense for the lack of sympathy, she never had circus acts grace her birthdays. The usual setup only had tsungi horn and pipa players at most.
Right when they've just settled into what she dreaded to think of as their new hometown, the kid went missing.
All the good fortune that came their way after naming him ran out faster than Mai could say ‘fire flakes’.
Seeing her mother's usually composed frame wracked by tears and her father seething in rage, the situation was kind of amusing when she thought about it.
Nonetheless, Michi crying at a balcony wasn't an entirely new sight.
Mai reached into her robe, pulling out a handkerchief and offering it to the lady, a perfunctory gesture that she remembered doing years ago; back in the nation and life she left behind.
“So, the resistance has kidnapped my son,” Ukano said through clenched teeth, trying to still maintain the airs of authority. The taut lines pulling down the corners of his mouth did not go unnoticed by Mai, however.
Her parents were coming undone, cast down from their gilded heights.
All because of the kid whose biggest accomplishments thus far were meaningless babble and chewed-up toys.
Her ears were buzzing, listening to their theatrics, watching them shatter for him, while she remained cold and still as a statue. They were falling apart for the long-awaited boy, when they had spent years polishing her until she was too hard to break.
She continued to stare into the vast nothingness of Omashu. Even with all its winding chutes and massive stone buildings, the city will always seem like a whole load of nothing to her.
Ukano was now dictating a letter to his scribe, laying down the terms for an exchange with Tom-Tom’s kidnappers.
Apparently, they were trading a two-year-old for a king.
Considering that their family prided itself on having an appraising eye in business, this pretty much went against everything they presumably stood for.
A bitter thought suddenly sprang to mind, rising like bile in her throat.
These were the same people who were more than happy to tie her hair with ribbons, a nicely wrapped gift addressed to the Prince.
In the distance, she could see the ongoing construction efforts for the Fire Lord’s statue.
None of this would have happened if we just stayed where we’ve always been.
As it turned out, she didn't need to deal with homesickness for very long.
With Azula’s flashy royal procession marching through the city streets, a piece of the Fire Nation was being brought right to her doorstep.
Literally.
“It’s great to see you, Mai,” the Princess said in greeting, placing her hands on Mai’s shoulders.
The two of them were never big on hugging, but somehow the gesture made her feel more at ease than all her days in the Earth Kingdom combined.
Ty Lee rushed forward, all smiles and sunshine, giving Mai a tight hug. The best that she could do to reciprocate was give her old friend a little pat on the back, but she was glad to see her all the same.
“I thought you ran off and joined the circus. You said it was your calling,” Mai uttered under her breath, remembering the time Ty Lee turned the Caldera upside down with her sudden disappearance, leaving only a note about pursuing a long-held passion.
Before breaking their embrace, the acrobat stiffened, with her signature smile still in place. The action could have slipped past anyone, but not Mai.
They were two sides of the same guarded coin, raised in a culture that taught them never to trust. Mai built an armor of indifference to navigate their world, suppressing every emotion.
Ty Lee, however, wore her vulnerable heart on her sleeve, using that very openness as her absolute advantage. Both kept their cards close—a crucial tactic they never outgrew, even years after leaving the academy.
“Well, Azula called a little louder,” Ty Lee assured her.
The response solidified what Mai was thinking from the moment she saw their ascent: not a visit, but a summon.
The Princess didn’t call anyone—she commanded them.
“I have a mission. And I need you both,” Azula declared, the words landing on them like a military edict.
She would be trading one cage for another, except going with Azula certainly held much more appeal. She would be moving, fighting, and proving herself through the skills in her arsenal. She would feel the cold air whipping her face, trekking through different terrain rather than be suffocated by the sand of her family’s new territory.
Mai would choose the possibility of danger over the certainty of boredom any day.
At the very least, she can be afforded the room to breathe.
“Count me in. Anything to get me out of this place.”
Prior to the events of today, she couldn't remember the last time she was given this much space to just be.
Sure, she was defeated by an air bison and two Water Tribe peasants (all credit should be given to the air bison, really), but that night, Mai fell asleep with a slight grin—which, if Ty Lee were to judge, would be the equivalent of her skipping merrily along and singing under her breath.
Not only did she get to see her father receive a much-deserved slice of humble pie with Azula belittling his work as governor, she was also looking forward to the prospect of seeing Zuko again.
Mai left the bleak city of Omashu without looking back. Agni knows what will happen to Tom-Tom after the failed hostage trade, but if her parents’ desperate measures were any indication, she knew they would stop at nothing to get their precious son back.
And besides, even if bringing him home would take some time, deep down she wondered whether he'd be better off at the hands of the rebels. They seem to treat him well enough.
“You’re with child, my Lady.”
She allowed the healer's words to wash over her for a few more moments, but all that remained was a feeling akin to being doused with ice-cold water.
“That’s…” her husband trailed off, also trying to let the new information sink in. He stole a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. Seeing that her expression remained unreadable, he cleared his throat instead. “Thank you. You may leave.”
Once the door clicked shut, Mai finally let out a shaky breath. “Well,” she began, turning to him. “This was definitely not what I expected.”
They were trying for this, of course—planning for it, hoping for it—though they had never felt the need to consult scrolls or sages for the most auspicious time to conceive. They leaned, instead, toward the quiet belief that when the opportunity arrived, it would simply follow its due course.
But when their tranquil lunch was interrupted by her stomach turning inside out, their first thought had been food poisoning. Not a baby.
No amount of hypothetical conversations about the future could prepare them for the reality of it coming to knock.
Zuko watched the way she was staring at nothing. He wanted to reach for her, but sensed that she needed an anchor, not a distraction. He steeled himself, forcing his own composure to match hers.
“What do you want to do?” he asked, tone low and steadying. “It’s your call.”
A short, incredulous laugh escaped her, softened by the utter earnestness in his gaze. She reached out, covering his hand with her own. “That’s sweet of you to say, but you and I both know it’s not just mine.”
He scowled, picturing in his mind’s eye all the men who believed wearing a fancy hat gave them rein over their family’s life. “The council and the temple can kiss my—”
He stopped abruptly, blinking down at her midsection. At the seed yet to sprout. Just like plants, babies respond well to positive affirmation. Mai never pegged him as the type to take old wives’ tales seriously. The mighty and respectable Fire Lord visibly scrambled for a new ending as his face twisted into a panicked expression of self-censorship.
“...toes,” Zuko finished lamely, voice rising an awkward octave. “They can kiss my toes. Or my boots.”
True to their habit of defying convention, Fire Lord Zuko and Fire Lady Mai chose not to issue a formal court proclamation regarding the pregnancy. In a matter of years, the nation would stake its claim on their child, so what’s a couple more months of keeping the news to themselves?
While the palace could only speculate for now, the two of them got to work on the baby’s nursery in secret. Unless called upon, their chambers were generally off-limits to servants; if the sight of their rulers hauling buckets of paint in their spare time raised some eyebrows, well, the staff could merely assume they were in the mood for redecorating.
“Red?” he offered, gesturing at the blank wall.
“Too boring.”
“Orange,” he flashed her a grin. It was less of a design choice and more of a teasing provocation, knowing exactly how she felt about the color.
Mai gave him a slow, unimpressed roll of her eyes.
“Yellow?”
“What kind of yellow are we talking about?” she asked, wanting to confirm if they had the same idea.
Zuko’s eyes took on a far-off sheen—the way they usually did when he was contemplating the past. But he wasn’t the spiteful boy anymore, the one who brooded on the deck of a ship and glowered at any show of kindness. Not anymore.
“Yellow, like… apple slices,” he said, his voice quiet as he drifted back to a certain memory.
She turned her attention towards the window, with its linen curtains cradled by a gentle breeze—allowing some warm sunlight to seep through. A few blinks and she was pulled into that same afternoon he held in his mind.
When Mai looked at him, catching the serene smile which mirrored her own, she realized yet again that their peace was hard-won.
“Yellow, like turtleducks.”
By the time she started showing, the gossip mill cut to the chase. Eventually, she found herself face to face with her mother in one of the palace drawing rooms.
“You may be the Fire Lady, but you are still my daughter. Did I really have to find out this way? From a parent at the academy?” Michi never raised her voice; when she wanted to show her disappointment, she made it known with downturned eyes and a curled lip.
It was a look that could’ve easily bought her remorse—if only she were a decade younger.
Mai did not move to take any of the seats. And Michi, ever the stickler for etiquette, remained standing so long as her senior in rank saw fit to do so.
“Splendid weather we are having,” she responded dryly, somewhat emboldened by a curiosity to test just how far she could go.
If her mother picked up on the signature sarcasm, she deliberately ignored it. “You probably feel that you’re above taking advice from your poor old mother, but I know how these nobles think, Mai.” She stepped closer—the closest that propriety allowed. “I’m worried about you. If this child is not a firebender, both of you will never hear the end of it.”
Michi's words, well-intentioned as they might have been, made her irritation flare up. Good intentions had never gotten the two of them anywhere. When the majority of her supplemental lessons shifted to the domestic arts soon after her brother was born, she was just looking out for her future as a dutiful wife. When Mai clamped her emotions shut and further retreated into herself, her mother deemed it for the best—lest they be viewed as sympathizers of the banished Prince.
She would not allow such words to have power over her. Never again. Not when she now had someone aside from herself to protect.
The Fire Lady, with a gaze that could cut as much as her sharpest blade, looked at her spitting image. They frowned in the exact same way, but they couldn’t be more different.
Or at least, she was trying to be.
She cocked her head to the side, making a dismissive motion towards the door. “Your concern is noted, Mother. But it is entirely unnecessary.”
Michi gave a curt bow, throwing one last glance over her shoulder as she stood by the exit.
“I pray with all my heart that you will be granted a firebending son.”
Her mother's prayer—if one could even call it that—gave her reason to pause and reflect.
That was how Zuko caught her, weighed down by the silence of the now-empty drawing room a few minutes later.
“I came as soon as I heard she was here.” Closing the distance her mother had so carefully maintained, his familiar low cadence reached out to pull her away from the edge. “Are you okay?”
At his genuine question, the rigid strength in her legs gave way. She sank into the nearest settee, the heavy silk of her skirts slumping against the velvet in exhausted heaps. It was only when she was seated, looking up at him, that the mask of the Fire Lady truly began to slip.
“Lady Michi offers us her sincerest concerns,” she drawled, her voice laced with a bitter, practiced irony. “Said she prays with all her heart that I will be granted a firebending son.”
A stark tension rippled through him, his jaw tightening so hard a muscle leaped in his cheek. The sympathy in his expression morphed into something much darker, much more dangerous.
“I don’t want our child anywhere near her.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Mai replied matter-of-factly. She let her head fall back against the cushions, the defensive arch of her spine relinquishing its hold at last.
The harsh lines on Zuko's face did not completely vanish, but his hands were surprisingly gentle as they found the tight knots of her shoulders. His rough thumbs traced the line of her collarbone before settling into a steady rhythm.
In these few stolen moments, they slipped into a temporary bliss. The heat he naturally radiated thawed any lingering chill that sought to consume her mind: her mother’s presence. The court. The Crown.
As the sun traced its path toward the horizon, casting long, amber shadows across the room, it was only then that Zuko reached for a metal canister he’d set aside.
“Sorry, it’s probably all melted by now,” he said sheepishly, unscarred half of his face matching the crimson of the other. “Express delivery by manatee whale.”
She pried the lid open, and despite his apology, a small, triumphant smile lit up her face. “It’s fine.”
Her fifteen-year-old self wouldn’t have found joy at the sight of what seemed more like pink goop instead of Ember Island’s famous cherry ice cream, but perhaps this was one of the miracles of motherhood.
The sand was a far more forgiving stage than the polished marble of the palace. And for Izumi’s first birthday, it was the only one that mattered.
She wanted her daughter to run barefoot on the beach with no one hovering about to fret over every stray grain sticking to her clothes—or how her prized complexion would be damaged by the sun’s rays.
“I should invite a band,” Zuko suddenly brought up, looking all too pleased with himself.
Mai furrowed her brows, a mock-threat in her eyes. “You wouldn’t.”
“What? I always enjoyed going to your birthday parties as a kid,” he countered, a boyish smirk peering through the ruggedness of his features. “You looked like you wanted to barf every time they played Four Seasons.”
She let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sigh, swatting at his arm as she stood. “Shut up and help me set the table.”
Enthroned in her high chair, Izumi’s little hands drummed a steady beat as they scuttered back and forth.
Usually, they were the first to scoff at tradition, but this—the fortune-telling game—was a curiosity they wanted to indulge in private, away from the weight of prying eyes.
When the cotton ball was held under Izumi’s nose at birth, it did not catch fire.
Though the firebending identification test was not always foolproof, they had been steadily preparing themselves for the possibility of her abilities never manifesting. With her being a potential nonbender, the amount of people who clamored and thought her fate was sealed could fill up an audience chamber.
With what they were about to do, Mai and Zuko weren’t looking for a spark or a sign of greatness. They just wanted to know what she liked. They wanted to see what caught her eye and made her laugh—to see which small piece of the world she would claim as her own.
They began to line the objects up on the table, starting with a pouch of gold pieces for wealth, followed by a calligraphy brush for the life of a scholar. Beside those, Mai placed her own childhood sai, the metal polished but worn from her years of training. To finish the row, Zuko added a little drum, if she were musically inclined, and a small toy boat—a silent invitation to the sea that sat just outside their walls.
When Izumi was set down on the mat, she didn’t hesitate. With a delighted shriek, she lunged forward, her small arms sweeping across the table in a clumsy, triumphant arc.
She claimed the whole spread. The pouch, the brush, the boat—everything was dragged into a chaotic pile against her chest. She even managed to snag the hilt of the sai, waving it with the same erratic glee she gave the drum.
“I guess this means we have our work cut out for us,” Zuko chuckled, staring affectionately at the loot on their daughter’s lap.
“Alright, kid,” Mai took the sai away before she could poke an eye out. “Hands off.”
One glance at Izumi, and anyone can see the resemblance. But the familial pattern frays at her small, sandy heels. Her toothy grin is a bright, messy tear in the fabric of everything they were expected to be.
In the face of their doomed tapestry, she races across it: wild, unraveled, and entirely her own.