The days in the Fire Nation capital turned into a long, suffocating gray, despite the brilliance of the sun.
For Zuko, the novelty of this world had begun to wear off, replaced by the grinding reality of a timeline that refused to speed up.
The Siege of Ba Sing Se had passed its three-hundredth day. Reports came in daily—missives of stalemates, supply line issues, and General Iroh's patience.
Zuko read them all with permission in the strategy room. He knew Lu Ten was still breathing and laughing with his soldiers, unaware that his death warrant was already signed by the ink of history.
Things inside the palace were a strange purgatory.
With Azula away at the academy again, the halls were quieter. The psychological warfare between his parents had also cooled into a simmering détente. Ozai didn't scream at Ursa as much, largely because he didn't hate Zuko as much.
In fact, Ozai didn't quite like being around Zuko.
He watched Zuko during the public sparring sessions and saw the power in Zuko's stance. He also saw the way Zuko dismantled the palace guards with efficient, brutal movements.
But every time Zuko had the chance to deliver a crippling blow, to burn a scar into an opponent, he pulled back.
"You hesitate," Ozai growled one evening after dinner. "You have the throat, yet you do not bite. Why?"
"A dead opponent cannot be interrogated, father," Zuko replied calmly, sipping his tea. "And a crippled guard requires a pension."
It was a lie, of course. Zuko just didn't see the point in maiming anyone to make Ozai proud. But the answer frustrated Ozai because it was logical. Rather, it was something Azulon would say.
And Azulon was listening.
The fire lord had taken a great liking to Zuko; he saw Zuko as a vessel of cold intellect, a stark contrast to Iroh's spiritualism or Ozai's raw ambition.
"Come here, boy," Azulon rasped one afternoon. He was sitting on his throne, surrounded by walls of flame that kept the room at a sweltering temperature. "You have been reading the reports from the front. What is your assessment?"
"General Iroh's too cautious," Zuko said, keeping his head bowed. "But his caution preserves the army. If he rushes the walls, he loses the manpower needed to hold the city once it falls."
Azulon's long fingernails stroked his beard as he considered this. "Yes... You're seeing things just like me. Indeed, you are my favorite grandchild, Zuko. Not because you are sweet, but because you are not blind."
Zuko knew this favoritism was fragile. If Lu Ten were here, the "favorite" title would vanish instantly. But Lu Ten wasn't here. Meaning now was the right time to seize the moment.
"I have a request, grandfather..."
"Speak, boy."
"I wish to study under a specific commander. A man named Zhao."
Azulon paused. "Zhao? He is a minor officer and has no lineage of note. Why would a prince lower himself to learn from such a man?"
"Because he studied under Jeong Jeong," Zuko simply replied.
Jeong Jeong, also known as 'the Deserter,' was a bender of such profound skill that he had become a legend before he became a traitor. He had also vanished three years ago.
If Zuko had arrived in this world sooner, he would have hunted the man down to be his only teacher. But Jeong Jeong was gone, hiding wherever he pleased.
"The traitor," Azulon spat, though his eyes gleamed with interest. "You wish to learn the techniques of a coward?"
"I wish to learn the techniques of a skilled bender," Zuko corrected. "Jeong Jeong's gone, but Zhao carries his forms. I want to extract that knowledge before Zhao gets himself killed seeking glory."
Azulon cackled. "You want to steal the secrets of a deserter through his student. Bwahaha! Very well. The man is currently in the harbor, overseeing supply chains. I will have him summoned."
✟
Some time later.
Zuko stood in the training courtyard. In front of him was none other than Zhao.
Zhao was exactly as ugly as the history books—and the cartoons—had depicted. He had massive sideburns that looked like they were trying to consume his face and a perpetual sneer that suggested he smelled something rotting.
Zhao himself looked at the young prince with hunger. He wasn't an admiral yet, but that was something Zuko was planning to use against the officer.
"Prince Zuko," Zhao said, bowing a little too stiffly. "It is an honor. The fire lord tells me you specifically requested my instruction."
"I heard you were a student of Jeong Jeong," Zuko said, standing with his hands clasped behind his back.
Zhao flinched. It was a sore subject. Jeong Jeong had abandoned him, declaring him undisciplined. "That man was a fool. He feared his own power and thought firebending was a curse."
"But he taught you how to make it big," Zuko said, stepping closer. "Didn't he?"
Zhao puffed out his chest. "He taught me the forms, and I perfected them. That's all I can say."
"Show me..."
Zhao grinned as he turned to the training dummies. He didn't take a breath, nor did he center himself; he just roared and exploded by thrusting his fists forward. A wall of fire erupted, consuming the dummies, the grass, and nearly singeing the eyebrows of the nearby guards.
It was truly a messy display, lacking control. But it was big.
"Impressive," Zuko lied.
Zhao preened. "It is the true nature of fire. Dominance like no other."
"Teach me," Zuko said. "Teach me how to expand the blast radius and how to stop caring about what gets burned."
Zhao hesitated due to the comment seeming more condescending than praise-worthy. "Are you sure your father will agree to this style of teaching, my prince?"
Zuko stepped into Zhao's personal space. He looked up at the man, channeling every ounce of aristocratic manipulation he possessed.
"My father respects results, and my grandfather will know when I'm denied those results. Since he's always watching, imagine if you were the one credited with unlocking the prince's true potential."
He let the words sink in. Admiral, Governor, General—all of those titles could be his.
Zhao's eyes glazed over with greed. He didn't see a child anymore; he saw a stepping stone.
"Very well," he said in a dripping voice. "Forget the breathing exercises the royal tutors taught you. Fire is about drive, so push it out until it hurts."
"Good..."
✟
For the next few weeks, Zuko trained with Zhao. It was a class in bad habits. Zhao taught him to overextend, to burn through his chi reserves, and to create explosions rather than streams.
For a normal student, this would have been ruinous. It would have made Zuko sloppy.
But Zuko wasn't a normal student; he already had perfect emotional control. So he had taken Zhao's raw, undisciplined expansion techniques and filtered them through his own cold calculation.
In doing so, he learned how to widen his chakra gates to let more energy through at once. He also learned how to create the "wall of fire" that Jeong Jeong was famous for. And most importantly, he applied it to his secret project.
Late at night, in the privacy of his chambers, Zuko practiced his combustionbending—his "finger gun."
Before, the blast had been powerful but uncontrolled. It had hurt him only on occasion because the energy bottlenecked at his fingertips. But after all that training, his head had learned how to handle the overflow.
Pointing at a stone vase across the room, he formed the gun shape with his hand. This time, instead of fighting the pressure, he used Jeong Jeong's expansion theory to widen the exit path at the microscopic level.
Bang.
A beam of condensed heat shot from his fingers and hit the vase.
There was no massive explosion this time or recoil that shattered his bones. The vase simply vaporized into a cloud of hot dust.
Zuko looked at his hand. The skin was red but not burned.
In due time, he could perfect combustionbending to be used in combat.
Zhao thought he was teaching the prince to be a monster. In reality, he was just giving the monster sharper teeth.