Hello, finally an update! (I wasn't dead lol, I was just doing a university internship, i.e., unpaid work)
I'm very sorry for the delay, but writing this turned out to be more difficult (and complex) than expected, so please forgive any mistakes that may be present.
By the way, very few guessed that the chapter would focus on Zuko in my poll (placing third).
But before we begin, you should know that this chapter takes place before, during, and after the events at the North Pole. That's why I wrote it as an interlude within the North Pole arc. This will be important for the future, and above all, it serves to demonstrate the development/deterioration of the chapter's protagonist. I hope you enjoy it.
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" You know… if you had been born a hundred years ago, we could have been friends. "
Those were the last words Prince Zuko heard from the Avatar before watching him disappear beyond the horizon.
The young prince wondered: why didn't he attack? Why did he pretend to be unconscious? Was it because of fear of Sokka, or something else?
He didn't know for certain.
Standing on the shore, immersed in melancholy and confused thoughts, he let the wind tousle his hair as the sun was devoured by the sea. The reflection in his pupils showed the same thing: endless waves, a reminder of the distance separating his exile from what he called destiny.
Suddenly, a firm hand rested on his shoulder, breaking the stillness. Zuko turned sharply and found his uncle Iroh smiling at him with his usual warmth, a steaming cup of tea in his other hand.
" Prince Zuko," Iroh said in a gentle yet firm voice, "the sea can be a great teacher of patience. But if you keep looking only at the horizon, you will miss the tea growing cold here and now."
Zuko looked at the cup with disdain—not because of the tea, but because it was the least of his problems.
" I have nothing left, Uncle…" he said, his voice breaking. "Azula took my crew, I helped the Avatar escape, and Father won't let me return. Not to mention that boy, Sokka… he's stronger than I thought."
Iroh observed him in silence before responding.
" Prince Zuko…"
" And that Kuzon… they say he's close to Azula and even managed to strike her during training." His tone revealed fury, exhaustion, and contempt toward himself.
Iroh sighed softly.
" There is no sense in punishing yourself like this. If there is one thing I learned from hitting rock bottom, it is that from there, one can only move upward."
The words seemed to reach him. For the first time, Zuko hesitated, and a faint, tired smile appeared on his gaunt face.
" We will go to Ba Sing Se. There we will be safe from Azula, and we can start again," Iroh said with renewed spirit.
Zuko remained silent for a few seconds before answering.
" Thank you, Uncle… but I think I must continue alone first."
Iroh opened his eyes in surprise. He had never expected to hear that, though a spark of pride briefly appeared in his expression.
" Are you sure?"
" Yes. I must find my own path."
The words lingered between them before settling into the salty air.
The old man, whose mission had always been to guide his nephew, let out a hopeful smile.
" Sometimes, the first step toward understanding oneself is hitting rock bottom."
Zuko lowered his gaze as he gripped the bamboo railing.
" I tried to follow my destiny with your help and my crew's… but they are gone now. That's why I must capture the Avatar my own way… alone."
Iroh's smile slowly faded, replaced by concern.
" How do you plan to do that?"
The question was calm, but direct.
" I don't know, I…"
" Do you intend to bring him to the Fire Nation on a ship we no longer have?"
Zuko frowned.
" First, I'll capture him."
" And then what?!" Iroh raised his voice, unable to contain his anguish. "You never think before acting! This is exactly what happened with Zhao. You believed you could infiltrate and ended up captured."
Zuko turned sharply, giving him his back, his gaze fixed on the sea.
" Or what happened a few days ago with Azula. She provoked you by taking your crew and telling you where she would go, and you followed without any plan. When you discovered the Avatar had already been captured, you freed him… but you had nowhere to go."
" I would have figured something out!"
" No! If his friends hadn't rescued him, you wouldn't have known what to do."
The words struck harder than any blow.
Zuko clenched his teeth. His hands trembled against the railing.
" Be quiet…" he muttered.
" Prince Zuko, listen to me—"
" I said be quiet!" he turned abruptly, eyes blazing—not only with anger, but with something deeper… fear.
He breathed rapidly, as if the air were not enough.
" You always say the same thing! That I should think, wait, reflect!" his voice began to crack. "But while I think, everyone else keeps moving forward and fulfilling their destiny!"
He brought a hand to his face, frustrated.
" Azula already has an army… Father has already decided who I am… and the Avatar keeps escaping!"
Iroh stepped forward firmly. Concern filled his expression as he saw his nephew beginning to lose himself.
" Is that truly your destiny…? Or the one someone else tried to impose on you?"
Zuko froze. His eyes faltered.
" Enough, Uncle! It's something I have to do!"
" I beg you, Prince Zuko!" Iroh said urgently. "It is time for you to look within yourself and begin asking these two great questions…"
The wind blew strongly between them.
" Who are you?"
Zuko swallowed. His gaze trembled.
Memories crossed his mind:
his father turning his back on him… the scar burning… Aang calling him friend. How he rescued Sokka.
His breathing became uneven.
" And what is it that you want?"
Silence fell between them, heavy and unbearable.
Zuko opened his mouth, but no answer came out.
" I…"
His hands clenched into fists.
" I want my honor!" he finally exclaimed, almost desperately.
Even he heard how hollow it sounded.
His eyes hardened as he sensed his own doubt, and that only made him angrier.
" If I don't capture the Avatar, all of this will have been meaningless!" he pointed to his scar. "All of it!"
Iroh watched him with infinite sadness.
" Your honor is in no one's hands but your own."
Zuko shook his head violently.
" You don't understand!"
His voice trembled.
" If I stop chasing the Avatar… then… I have nothing."
Zuko immediately looked away, as if the words had betrayed him.
He took several deep breaths, unable to calm the knot tightening in his chest.
" I need to do this alone," he finally said, quieter but firm. "I have to prove that I can achieve it…"
" Please, Prince Zuko, let us go inside the inn. I know things have been difficult lately. Let us rest, and we will meditate on it tomorrow."
Iroh spoke gently, silently pleading with him not to make a rash decision while his spirit remained in conflict.
Night fell wrapped in heavy silence. Iroh had done everything possible to persuade him, and when he believed he had succeeded, he finally closed his eyes to rest.
But Zuko remained awake.
Lying down, staring at the ceiling, he could only think: who was he? What did he truly want?
All his life he believed he knew the answer: capture the Avatar and regain his honor, his family, and his place in the world. But now that he had lost everything… did a place for him still exist?
Sitting at the edge of the bed, he continued thinking as anxiety coursed through his body and sweat dampened his skin.
" What should I do?" he asked himself in frustration.
His gaze fell upon the Blue Spirit mask, and his chest tightened.
" Azula… she knows… she must know I was behind that mask."
The realization struck him like icy water. He had chosen that identity because of the happy memories from his childhood, when he watched that play with his family.
But he had forgotten something essential: Azula had seen it too… and she knew he fought with swords.
Zuko looked at his uncle. For the first time, he felt fear for his safety.
Without thinking further, he stood and packed what he needed into a cloth sack: food and simple clothes.
He watched Iroh sleeping peacefully and hesitated for a moment before leaving. Then he left a note beside him.
Under the moonlight, he gazed at his reflection in the inn's hot springs.
His topknot stood out against his silhouette: a symbol of shame and, at the same time, of his belonging to the Fire Nation and the royal family.
He took the dagger his cousin had given him years ago and looked at his reflection. He no longer saw pride or determination, only confusion.
He knew that if he did this, there would be no turning back. His identity… his destiny… he would have to discover them on his own.
The blade hovered inches from his topknot. He was afraid, yes, but his fear of Azula and concern for his uncle were stronger.
This time he did not hesitate.
With a single cut, clean and decisive, the topknot fell onto the water. The lock floated for a few seconds before sinking.
Zuko did not look back.
Morning arrived wrapped in mist.
The gentle murmur of the hot springs filled the inn as sunlight began filtering through the mountains. The air was calm… too calm.
Iroh slowly opened his eyes.
For a few moments he remained still, listening to the silence. Something was wrong. It was not a clear thought, but a heavy feeling in his chest.
He turned his head toward the nearby bed.
Empty.
The sheets were neatly arranged, untouched.
Iroh sat up slowly, though his expression had already changed. His usual calm remained, but now it was pierced by growing concern.
" Prince Zuko…?" he called softly.
No answer came.
His eyes then fell upon the small paper beside the pillow. He picked it up carefully and read in silence.
As he continued, his breathing deepened.
He closed his eyes for a moment, gripping the note between his fingers.
" Oh, Zuko…" he whispered.
What he felt was not surprise.
It was fear.
He stood immediately and stepped outside the room. Steam from the hot springs rose slowly beneath the morning light. He took a few steps… and then stopped.
Something floated in the water.
A long lock of dark hair swayed gently on the surface.
Iroh froze.
His eyes widened with instant understanding.
The topknot.
The symbol of the heir prince. The last visible link to the Fire Nation… and to the identity Zuko had tried to hold onto for years.
The old man released a trembling sigh.
" It has begun…" he murmured gravely.
He knelt beside the water and took the hair into his hands. The strands were still damp, recent.
Too recent.
His gaze hardened slightly—not with anger, but with determination.
" His spirit is at war with itself."
Iroh knew what this meant. He had seen men lose themselves in inner conflicts like this… and not all of them found their way back.
For the first time in a long while, fear clearly appeared on his face.
" I cannot leave him alone now."
He brought a hand to his own topknot.
For years he had kept it out of tradition, out of respect for what once was… even though his path had long since changed.
He looked at the reflection in the water.
A defeated general. A lost son. An uncle still trying to save the only thing he had left.
He smiled sadly.
" I suppose it is also time to leave some things behind."
Without hesitation, he untied the ribbon holding his hair and, with a firm motion, cut off his topknot. The lock fell into the water beside Zuko's, floating side by side before slowly drifting apart with the current.
Iroh watched the scene for a few seconds.
Then he stood.
The doubt was gone.
He returned to the inn with determined steps. He packed his few belongings, placed Zuko's note inside his robe, and left enough money on the table.
" Wait for me, Prince Zuko."
But little did the man know how far he was from catching up to his nephew.
Zuko had left at midnight and had not stopped even once since then.
He knew that to find himself, he first had to become lost.
That was why he avoided the main roads, traveling through barren paths and nearly empty villages, never staying too long in one place.
For days, a single question pursued him relentlessly:
" Who am I?"
All his life he believed he knew the answer: Zuko, the heir prince. Capturing the Avatar, restoring his honor, returning home was his destiny. But now that he had lost everything, the question seemed larger than ever.
As he walked, memories began to catch up with him.
The war room. The moment he defended the 41st division and was humiliated for it… the same crew that later became his during exile.
The Agni Kai with his father. His refusal to fight. The fire. The scar.
The failure at the South Pole when he finally found the Avatar… and still lost him.
Zuko clenched his fists.
Then he thought of Sokka.
That boy called himself chief of the Southern Water Tribe despite being younger than him. At first Zuko believed it was a lie, an illusion meant to intimidate enemies.
But the tribe was not as he had been told.
There were no ruins or misery. It was a prosperous place, strong, alive even while surrounded by danger. And after seeing it, Zuko understood that Sokka had helped build all of that himself.
He remembered his strength against the spirit at Roku's temple. In that moment, Zuko doubted even his firebending could defeat him.
And then there was that chi attack in Azula's prison.
That memory still made his skin crawl.
Zuko had understood something he did not want to admit: he was weak.
Sokka was an enigma. His strength, his power, his ability to gather allies… and above all, the fact that he had spared Zuko's life.
Zuko could not understand it.
That boy seemed to possess everything he did not: honor, purpose, talent, a clear place in the world… and yet he acted with humility.
The prince lowered his gaze as he continued walking.
He, on the other hand, had spent his entire life chasing something he was no longer sure he understood.
The wind stirred his now loose hair.
For the first time since his exile, Zuko did not feel like a prince… nor a hunter.
Only the road remained without direction.
At first, Zuko tried to move toward a specific destination, following trade routes or asking about nearby towns. But as the days passed, he stopped doing so. Walking became the only important thing. Moving forward was easier than thinking… though thinking always caught up with him in the end.
The weeks began to blur together.
He slept little. Sometimes only a few hours leaning against a tree or beneath the improvised roof of an abandoned stable. Other nights he did not close his eyes at all; he remained awake watching small campfires, observing how the flames twisted as if reflecting his own mind.
Every time he tried to rest, the same questions returned.
Who are you? What is it that you want?
Iroh had spoken those words calmly, but in Zuko's mind they sounded like a constant judgment.
He tried to answer them again and again, without success.
Because there was something he still believed with certainty.
The Fire Nation was not wrong.
He repeated that to himself as he walked.
He had grown up hearing that his nation brought progress to the world: order, technology, strength. The other nations were weak, stagnant, incapable of advancing on their own. The war was their way of sharing their greatness with the rest of the world.
That was what he had always been taught.
And Zuko still believed it.
Even after exile.
Even after everything.
But then he would remember silent villages in the wake of marching soldiers, abandoned homes he had seen during his travels, and the weary gazes of people trapped between armies. Those memories appeared uninvited, slowly eroding certainties that had once seemed unbreakable.
The conflict exhausted him more than any battle.
By the third week, his appearance had changed.
Dust covered his clothes. His hair, now short and uneven, fell messily across his face. Dark circles deeply marked his eyes, and his steps had lost the military firmness he once possessed.
He ate little.
He slept even less, and his thoughts tormented him daily.
It happened in a narrow alley of a small town.
Zuko barely noticed the figures until it was too late.
Three men stepped out from an alley, armed with knives and improvised clubs. They did not look like soldiers or trained warriors—just bandits accustomed to preying on lone travelers.
At another time, Zuko would have defeated them effortlessly.
But he had gone days without proper sleep.
His mind was elsewhere.
"Would you look at that," one said with a crooked smile. "A lost traveler."
Zuko tried to assume a defensive stance, but his reflexes came too late. One of them struck him from behind, forcing him to his knees.
He tried to ignite his fire—
but refused to use it.
His concentration shattered as the questions returned like an internal blow.
Who are you?
A second impact knocked him completely to the ground.
He did not fight as he should have.
Not because he did not want to… but because part of him was too tired to do so.
The bandits searched his bag quickly, taking the little money and supplies he carried.
"Not even worth it," one muttered before shoving him to the dirt.
They left laughing, leaving behind only dust and silence.
Zuko remained there for several minutes, staring at the ground.
The anger took time to arrive.
When it finally did, he struck the earth with his fist, releasing a brief burst of flame that extinguished almost instantly.
He breathed with difficulty.
He had lost.
To simple thieves.
He slowly forced himself upright, swaying.
"Pathetic…" he muttered to himself.
Prince Zuko, heir of the Fire Nation, reduced to a wanderer incapable of protecting even his own belongings.
The wind blew across the empty road.
For the first time, a thought crossed his mind without restraint:
If the Fire Nation brought greatness to the world…
why did the world seem so full of suffering?
Zuko immediately frowned, rejecting the thought.
No.
The world simply did not understand.
That had to be it.
He tried to walk, but his body gave out and he collapsed heavily onto the ground.
"Please, be careful. You're very weak."
A young, gentle voice reached him before he could rise.
Zuko tried to stand by reflex, but his legs failed and the world tilted dangerously.
"I'm fine…" he murmured, though he could barely remain upright.
"You're not," the girl replied softly. "Come, my house is nearby."
Too tired to argue, he allowed her to help him.
The house was modest, yet well kept, radiating a strange warmth—one he had almost forgotten.
A woman looked up from the kitchen when they entered.
"Mom, I found him on the road. He's exhausted."
The woman observed Zuko for barely a second before nodding.
"Then he needs to eat."
No questions. No suspicion.
That unsettled him more than any interrogation could have.
"You can call me Song," the young woman said as she offered him a seat.
Zuko hesitated. What name should he give?
"Lee."
The name came out unsteady, yet neither woman doubted its authenticity.
"You look very weak, Lee," Song's mother said with genuine concern. "Traveling in those conditions isn't safe for you."
Zuko listened in silence, unable even to look at the owner of that voice. Was it shame? Physical weakness? Perhaps both.
"I know," he finally replied weakly. "But it's something I have to do."
The woman heard the weight in his voice and simply nodded in understanding.
Soon the table filled with food: rice, vegetables, bread, meat, and hot soup. It was not the luxury he was used to aboard his ship, but the aroma made his stomach tighten painfully.
They ate together.
They spoke naturally, sharing small stories from their day, laughing softly between sentences. There was no tension or fear in the air—only the calm of people who had learned to survive together.
Zuko remained silent, observing.
The scene brought back old memories—of his mother making him laugh during family dinners, fleeting moments his exile seemed to have erased.
"My daughter told me you're a refugee," Song's mother said, finally including him in the conversation. "We were too."
He looked at her and nodded. That was perhaps the only certainty of his journey.
"Fire Nation soldiers attacked our village. They took all the men… that was the last time I saw my father," Song said, her voice carrying an old, settled sadness.
Zuko felt his back tense at the story.
"I haven't seen my father in many years…" he replied—not to change the subject, but because for the first time he found something in common with someone else.
"Is he fighting in the war?"
The innocent question carried a hope that unsettled the prince.
Zuko slowly lowered his bowl.
"Yes."
The answer came out dry. A faint but noticeable anger crossed the word.
The silence that followed was not uncomfortable, but it weighed heavily on him.
Because that house, even marked by loss, remained filled with something he had never truly possessed.
And that night, unable to sleep, Zuko stepped outside.
The air was cool and the sky filled with stars. He sat on the wooden porch in a lotus position, trying to organize his thoughts.
The questions returned again and again.
Who was he?
And what did he truly want?
The door opened softly behind him.
Song came out and sat beside him, leaving a small space between them.
For a moment, neither spoke.
"May I keep you company?" she asked gently.
Zuko did not respond. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon as he tried to contain the chaos inside him.
She spoke calmly.
"I know what you've been through. We've all gone through it at some point."
He could not understand how someone like her could understand him.
They had lost their home and family… but they still had each other. They knew who they were. And despite the pain, they seemed to have found peace.
He, on the other hand, had only questions.
Was it because of his absent father?
Song's loss was filled with love. His was filled with conflict.
He desired his father's approval… but deep down something darker existed.
Resentment?
Hatred?
Then her next words cut through his thoughts.
"The Fire Nation hurt you."
Zuko expected many things—but never that. His heart pounded, though his face remained still.
Song was looking at the scar on his face.
Empathy appeared in her expression as she gently reached out to touch it.
Zuko reacted immediately. With a quick but controlled movement, he stopped her hand before it could reach him.
That mark was his punishment. His shame. His burden.
She did not take offense. She understood.
"It's okay… I was hurt too."
She revealed part of her right leg.
Zuko turned and stared, stunned, at the burn marking her skin.
Understanding struck him instantly.
She did not see his internal conflict—she saw someone wounded like herself.
Her words gained meaning.
"The Fire Nation hurt you."
For years he had been taught that his nation brought greatness and prosperity to the world, that the war was a way of sharing its glory.
During his exile, he himself had threatened and burned villages—but he had never burned an innocent.
And above all, he had never seen so clearly the result of fire upon the skin of someone who was not a soldier.
Taking men and separating families? That he could understand.
Even the destruction of entire villages.
But… this?
Burning innocents? Burning children?
That was not right.
What kind of… person could do this?
Song noticed Lee's stunned expression. She saw shock, sadness, and compassion reflected in him.
"It's okay, Lee. I'm fine," she said gently, covering her scar again.
"It doesn't hurt anymore, and even though I know this scar will mark me forever, I can't let it define who I am. I can't let fear stand in my way."
Her words reached Zuko's heart. They were similar to his own beliefs—and yet completely different. She had moved forward and faced her pain, while he had clung to his and turned his punishment into purpose.
Song continued watching Lee, noticing how his expressions constantly changed.
"I'll go inside, Lee. Please try to rest."
Zuko watched her return to the house. This had perhaps been the worst day of his exile, yet amid so much pain and confusion he had found a warmth he had nearly forgotten.
Minutes passed that felt eternal as he reflected.
"I can't stay here," he finally said, standing up.
Just as he was about to leave, Song and her mother came outside. In the young woman's hands was wrapped food for travel.
"If you're leaving already, at least take this food with you."
Song's mother kindly extended a small sack of provisions and handed it to Lee.
He hesitated for a moment, then accepted it without speaking.
She understood. This poor young man, so young, seemed lost—not only in the world, but within himself.
"Thank you… for everything."
Zuko said it before leaving. He was genuinely grateful.
"I know you think there's no hope left in the world. But there is—the Avatar has returned."
Song's words came out like a desperate plea meant to reach Lee's heart.
She hoped they would bring hope to his confused spirit.
But Zuko stopped abruptly. Those words brought him neither peace nor comfort—they only reignited the wrong flame.
"I know."
Those were his final words before walking out through the wooden gate.
His gaze lingered for a moment on the family's ostrich horse; the idea of taking it crossed his mind.
Song watched him from the half-open doorway, waiting to see what decision Lee would make.
She would not have blamed him if he had taken the mount—but it would still have hurt to see him do so.
Zuko continued looking at the animal until he finally turned and walked forward, disappearing from Song's sight.
Song released a sigh of relief she hadn't realized she was holding and knew that the young man still had hope.
These women helped me and showed me great kindness. It wouldn't be right to take anything more from them, Zuko thought calmly before noticing a drunken man riding another ostrich horse.
Without hesitation, he knocked the man down, took the mount, and rode into the darkness.
During the following month, Zuko continued traveling with his mount, Song's words and his uncle's lingering constantly in his mind.
During that time, he began noticing things he had not before—or perhaps had been too blind to see.
Thin, sorrowful people begging for food.
Soldiers abusing their power, seizing provisions and demanding lodging by force.
Is this how Fire Nation soldiers act too?
Zuko found only more questions along his path of self-discovery.
He did not understand why things had to be this way. Why did life have to be so unfair?
Perhaps if he could do something—if he captured the Avatar, returned him to his father, and regained his status—then maybe he could change something.
But his thoughts were interrupted when he arrived at a village in the middle of nowhere.
His body, once sculpted by disciplined training, was now only a shadow of what it had been, his face drawn tight against his bones from lack of food—not to mention the hunger his mount must also have felt.
The place was filled with thin men enjoying games with children who, despite their slightly gaunt appearance, laughed as they played.
Zuko noticed a pair of Earth Kingdom soldiers playing cards in front of a small food stall.
Dismounting, he approached the gaunt vendor and extended two coins, asking for food.
"I'm sorry, but that amount isn't enough for a hot meal."
"Anything is fine, please," Zuko said with effort, suppressing his hunger.
"I can only give you two bags of wheat."
Zuko accepted the offer while watching two children laughing with eggs in their hands.
He quickly understood what they were about to do, and when they threw them, it confirmed his suspicion.
The eggs smashed against the soldiers' heads with a wet sound that broke the village's routine. For a second, absolute silence reigned, immediately followed by children's laughter scattering through the streets as they ran to hide behind houses and stalls.
One soldier slowly wiped the yolk dripping down his face.
"Who did that?" he growled, looking around.
His attention settled on the only unfamiliar figure nearby: Zuko.
The young man stood still, holding the two small sacks of wheat he had just bought. His expression was neutral, though hunger burned in his stomach.
The soldier approached.
"You. Traveler. Did you see who threw that?"
Zuko met his gaze without flinching.
"No."
"You didn't see anyone?"
"I wasn't looking."
The man frowned, clearly annoyed by the lack of submission in his voice.
"Then you won't mind compensating us."
He snatched both sacks of wheat without effort.
Zuko felt the loss like a physical blow. That food represented days of survival for him and his mount, but he did not move. He knew how to recognize when a fight would only make things worse.
The soldiers walked away laughing.
Zuko watched them leave as a growing discomfort settled in his chest.
During the past month, he had witnessed too many similar scenes.
Weak people forced to yield to those wearing uniforms.
Authority without honor.
Power without purpose.
Is this how Fire Nation soldiers act too?
The question surfaced on its own, and for the first time he could not push it away.
He remembered villages burned during his pursuit of the Avatar. He remembered screams, people fleeing, the fear on the faces of strangers he had never even known.
Back then, he had never stopped to think about it.
Now he could not stop.
"Thank you."
A child's voice pulled him from his thoughts.
The boy responsible for the attack looked at him with a nervous smile.
"They hit anyone who reports them," he explained. "Come with me. My family can help… your horse looks hungry too."
Zuko hesitated. His pride protested, but exhaustion won.
He nodded silently.
The house stood at the edge of the village, humble but well cared for. The barn showed improvised repairs—signs of difficult years—yet everything was clean and orderly.
The boy's father stepped outside when he saw them arrive.
The man quickly evaluated Zuko: worn clothes, twin swords, a trained posture despite exhaustion.
"Thank you for protecting my son," he finally said. "And forgive him if he caused you trouble."
"It was nothing," Zuko replied.
The man let out a bitter laugh.
"Those men wear Earth Kingdom uniforms, but they're not real soldiers. They never set foot on a battlefield. They only come here to remind us they can take the little we have."
Zuko listened in silence.
Different uniforms.
Same behavior.
During the meal, the family shared more with him than they could clearly afford. The mother tried to maintain a warm atmosphere, though her worry was obvious.
The conversation turned toward the war.
The father spoke about his eldest son, recruited years earlier by those same men. He had left full of pride, convinced he was defending his home.
He never returned.
No letter ever came.
Only silence.
An uncomfortable weight settled in Zuko's chest.
He thought of his own father.
Of how he had spent years chasing his approval, convinced that every pain had meaning if he could only regain it.
That family waited for the return of someone they loved.
He had chased the recognition of someone who had burned him.
"I'm sorry," he said at last.
And this time, it was not courtesy.
He spent the rest of the day helping repair the barn. The physical work allowed him to quiet his thoughts and memories of childhood, if only briefly.
For the first time in a long while, no one expected anything from him.
He was not a prince.
Not an enemy.
Just a traveler helping straighten a crooked wall.
When night fell, he immediately noticed the absence of his swords.
He found them behind the barn.
The boy was clumsily practicing with them.
"You'll only be the first to fall fighting like that," Zuko said.
The boy startled.
"I'm sorry! I just wanted to try…"
Zuko corrected his stance with unexpected patience.
"Balance matters more than strength. If you fight with anger, you lose before you begin."
"My brother was going to teach me when he came back."
Zuko fell silent.
"Do you miss him?"
"Every day."
The answer was simple.
Direct.
Painfully honest.
---
The next morning, as Zuko prepared to leave, the soldiers returned.
Gow led the group with a cruel smile.
"I thought someone should bring news."
The father stepped outside immediately.
"We don't want trouble."
"Oh, it's no trouble," Gow replied. "Just information about your son."
Between mocking remarks, he explained that the squad had been captured by the Fire Nation and that many prisoners were sent to the front lines without weapons, used as distractions.
The soldiers' laughter filled the air.
The father stepped forward, furious.
"Get out!"
Gow tried to approach, but Zuko stepped between them with his mount.
Their eyes met.
Gow smiled before retreating.
Before leaving, Zuko called the boy over and handed him his dagger.
"I want you to have it."
The boy read the inscription.
"Never give up without fighting."
Zuko nodded and departed.
---
Hours later, he rested beneath a tree.
But Zuko's rest ended abruptly.
He sat beside the road, absentmindedly watching the wind move through dry grass while his thoughts circled endlessly around the same questions that had haunted him for weeks. Song's words, his uncle's teachings, and memories of his childhood clashed without giving him a clear answer.
"Azula always lies…" he murmured without realizing it.
He remembered her perfect smile before Grandfather Azulon, the way every small mischief of hers was praised while any mistake of his was punished. He remembered how she manipulated situations, how she always said exactly what adults wanted to hear. And worse still, how he always ended up doubting himself.
The sound of hurried footsteps pulled him from his thoughts.
He looked up and saw the boy's mother running toward him along the road. Her breathing was uneven, her clothes disheveled, and the fear on her face was so obvious that Zuko stood before fully understanding what was happening.
"Please… you have to help him!" she gasped.
Zuko frowned.
"What happened?"
The woman tried to speak but paused to catch her breath.
"The soldiers… came back when my husband left… they tried to take our food… Lee tried to stop them… he pulled a knife… I don't know where he got it… and they said…" Her voice broke. "They said if he was old enough to carry a weapon, he was old enough to enlist."
Zuko's heart tightened.
A hot pressure began growing in his chest, slow but steady.
It wasn't surprise.
It was anger.
A heavy anger, different from what he usually felt. It did not come from wounded pride or failure. It came from something deeper.
Without a word, he mounted his ostrich horse and spurred it into a gallop toward the village.
As he rode, fragmented memories invaded his mind: Fire Nation officers speaking of honor, instructors repeating that war brought prosperity to the world, nobles celebrating victories he had only ever seen on maps and speeches.
But he also remembered burned villages during his exile, frightened faces, people running.
Was it really different?
He clenched his teeth.
He did not want to answer that question.
He arrived in a cloud of dust and immediately found the scene.
Lee was held by two soldiers, struggling uselessly. Gow watched with amusement, leaning on his enormous metal hammers planted into the ground.
"See? I told you my friend would come back!" Lee shouted with hope.
Zuko dismounted in a single motion.
"Let him go," he said firmly.
The soldiers recognized the traveler from the day before and grinned mockingly.
"Look who's back," one said. "Come to lose another meal?"
They did not wait for an answer. Two advanced at once.
Zuko drew his twin swords.
The first attack came fast and direct. He blocked by instinct, but the impact sent painful vibrations through his arms. His body reacted slower than expected; weeks of hunger and exhaustion were taking their toll.
The second soldier attacked from the right. Zuko turned just in time, deflecting the strike while stepping back to regain balance. His lungs burned; his endurance was no longer the same.
One soldier exploited the opening and struck his shoulder with the hilt. Zuko dropped to one knee, pain shooting through his arm.
Too slow…
The thought came with another memory: Azula training effortlessly, perfect in every movement while he failed again and again.
He clenched his jaw.
He could not fall again.
He rose with a sudden spin and changed tactics. Instead of meeting strength head-on, he moved fluidly, using short steps and precise turns. He deflected an attack, caught the first soldier's wrist, swept his legs, and struck his chest with the hilt.
The second attacked furiously, but Zuko crossed his blades and slid one sword along the enemy's weapon, disarming him. A quick blow to the abdomen ended the fight.
Both soldiers fell.
Zuko breathed heavily.
Then he heard slow applause behind him.
Gow advanced.
"Not bad… for a vagabond."
He raised his hammers and struck the ground.
The earth answered instantly.
A column of rock erupted beneath Zuko's feet, launching him backward. He rolled across the ground, barely avoiding a second impact that crushed where he had landed.
Zuko tried to close the distance, but Gow controlled the terrain. Stone plates rose constantly, blocking his advance and forcing him back again and again.
A hammer came down with brutal force. Zuko blocked with both swords, but the impact drove him to his knees; vibrations shot up his arms to his shoulders.
Another blow kicked up dust, blinding him momentarily. Gow sent a wave of rock crashing into Zuko's side, throwing him several meters.
The air left his lungs.
He tried to stand, but his body trembled.
He was losing.
He looked at the boy.
Frightened.
Frozen.
He remembered Song showing her scar.
He remembered his own words defending his nation's greatness.
He remembered the Agni Kai… his father's fire burning his face.
Something inside him stopped resisting.
Heat formed in his breath.
When he exhaled, flames burst from his hands.
The soldiers recoiled in shock.
Zuko rose slowly, fire illuminating his scarred face.
Gow attacked again, raising a wall of rock to crush him, but Zuko advanced through it with an explosion of fire that shattered the stone into burning fragments.
He spun, unleashing a blast that forced the earthbender to shield himself. The heat disrupted his control; cracks spread through the ground.
Gow tried another direct strike, raising a spear of rock from below, but Zuko leapt and descended in an arc of fire that struck the ground before him, forcing him back for the first time.
Now Gow was on the defensive.
Zuko advanced with steady breaths, each movement feeding the flames with restrained fury.
One final exchange.
Hammer against fire.
Stone against flame.
Zuko turned, deflected the weapon, and launched a concentrated blast that struck the soldier's chest, knocking him down for good.
Silence fell over the village.
Gow, stunned, looked up.
"Who… are you?"
Zuko inhaled deeply. The fire slowly faded.
There was no point hiding anymore.
"I am Zuko," he said firmly. "Prince of the Fire Nation… and one day I will change things."
The fire died slowly around his hands, the last sparks fading like dying embers carried away by the wind across the cracked earth of the road.
The silence that followed was not relief.
It was heavy.
Dense.
Almost hostile.
Dust hung in the air, glowing in the morning light while defeated soldiers groaned on the ground. One tried to crawl away; another clutched a dislocated arm. Gow remained kneeling, leaning on one hammer as he struggled to breathe, staring at the young man in disbelief.
But Zuko was no longer looking at the soldiers.
He was looking at the village.
And the village was looking at him.
At first there was confusion. People trying to understand what they had just witnessed. Then the looks began to change, one by one, like a silent wave spreading through the crowd.
A murmur rose behind him.
"Firebending…"
"He's from the Fire Nation…"
"Look at his face…"
Eyes inevitably fell to his scar.
Zuko felt the shift before fully processing it. He knew it too well. He had seen that transition countless times during his exile.
Curiosity.
Recognition.
And then…
rejection.
A woman hugged her daughter and stepped back. An old man spat on the ground without looking away. Two men instinctively moved in front of their families, as if Zuko might attack at any moment.
The air filled with a tension different from battle.
Not fear of combat.
Fear of him.
Lee's father watched silently, the gratitude he had shown hours earlier slowly collapsing as he tried to reconcile the young man who had repaired his barn with the firebender now standing before him.
Finally, someone spoke.
"That's no prince."
Several voices answered almost at once.
"The prince was banished."
"His own father marked him."
"He was cast out like a criminal."
They did not shout.
They spoke with quiet contempt.
As if discussing something dirty everyone already knew.
Each word struck Zuko harder than Gow's hammers.
He did not respond.
He did not argue.
Because they were not wrong.
The soldiers still held Lee, too stunned to react. Zuko walked toward them with steady steps. None tried to stop him; they released the boy almost reflexively.
Lee ran toward his parents… but stopped halfway.
He turned slowly.
And looked at Zuko.
There was no admiration in his eyes anymore.
No excitement.
No respect.
Only fear.
And something deeper.
Something Zuko recognized instantly because he had seen it in burned villages, in refugees, in prisoners of war.
Hatred.
Zuko's chest tightened.
Even so, he carefully drew the dagger and held it out.
"It's yours," he said quietly, trying to sound steady. "I want you to keep it."
Lee stared at the weapon. His hands trembled slightly. For a moment he seemed to remember the previous night—the laughter, the clumsy training, the words about getting back up after falling.
His fingers moved… but then his eyes returned to the scar.
Then to the blackened marks on the ground where fire had struck.
He stepped back.
One step.
Then another.
"I don't want it."
The words were almost a whisper, but they cut through the silence like a blade.
Zuko frowned, confused.
"Lee…"
The boy clenched his fists, and when he spoke again his voice broke between anger and pain.
"I hate you!"
The shout made several people flinch.
"They're like you!" he continued, tears gathering. "The fire people took my brother, and I hate you!"
Each word struck Zuko directly in the chest.
"You're just like them!"
Lee shoved the dagger back toward him as if it burned.
"I don't want anything from you!"
The metal hit Zuko's hand before slipping slightly; he caught it by reflex.
He did not answer.
He could not.
His hand remained extended for a few seconds before slowly closing around the weapon.
He felt something sink inside him.
Not anger.
Understanding.
He looked around.
No one approached.
No one thanked him.
The same people who had invited him to eat, who had trusted him, now avoided even meeting his gaze. Some hurried away; others watched him with fear and deep resentment, as if his mere presence carried memories too painful to bear.
Zuko understood something then that he had never wanted to accept.
It did not matter how much he helped.
It did not matter how many times he fought on the right side.
To them, he was not a savior.
He was the Fire Nation walking among them.
He silently sheathed the dagger and mounted his ostrich horse. The animal snorted uneasily, sensing the tension.
No one said goodbye.
No one said thank you.
As he rode away, he heard Lee's muffled crying behind him.
He did not look back.
He could not.
The road stretched empty ahead while the rhythmic sound of hooves filled the silence.
And then the memories came.
Azula, small, producing perfect blue fire as masters nodded in admiration.
"Azula was born lucky,"
his father would say proudly.
Then the gaze turning toward him.
Immediate disappointment.
"Stronger," Ozai ordered.
Failed attempts.
Unstable fire.
Azula smiling sideways.
"You always try too hard, brother," she would say with false sweetness. "Maybe you just weren't born with talent."
Another memory surfaced: Azula whispering lies adults believed without question, manipulating situations until he appeared guilty.
Always perfect.
Always admired.
Always lying.
Zuko tightened the reins.
"Azula always lies…" he murmured.
The wind carried his words away.
He remembered how she smiled when he was punished. How she understood people better than anyone… and used them.
He remembered the day of the Agni Kai.
The fire.
The pain.
The scar.
The exile.
His breathing grew heavy.
"Azula always lies…" he repeated, as if saying it could rearrange the past.
He stopped atop a hill as the sun began to set, painting the horizon deep red.
For a long moment he remained still.
Then he understood something that hurt more than the village's rejection.
They were right to fear him.
Because he truly was part of what had destroyed them.
He could not erase his origin.
He could not change his blood.
But he could decide what to do with it.
He slowly extended his hand.
A small flame appeared above his palm, steady and calm, without anger.
He watched it dance.
"I am a firebender," he said softly.
The flame burned brighter.
"I am the crown prince of the Fire Nation."
His eyes hardened—not with pride, but with a quiet determination born from pain.
"And I will change my destiny… my way."
He closed his fist.
The fire vanished.
The wind continued to blow as Zuko resumed his journey, alone once more… but now carrying not a lie, but a truth he had finally chosen to accept.