The rains came to the capital on the six-hundredth day of the siege, washing away the ash but doing little to scrub the gloom from the red shingles of the palace.
A courier had arrived at dawn, dripping wet, and carrying a scroll sealed with the personal insignia of General Iroh. It was a short message: Lu Ten had died.
Zuko stood on the balcony of his chambers, watching the water cascade off the dragon-shaped gargoyles. He felt hollow. The gears of history had just ground forward, crushing a young man to pave the way for a tragedy.
"It's time," he whispered to the rain.
Three months had passed since he began his brutal training with Zhao. The man was a blunt instrument, but he had served his purpose.
Zuko's chi pathways, widened by force and disciplined by an adult's intellect, were now capable of channeling torrents of energy that a child's body had no business holding.
One night, amidst the sweat and the shouting, his flame had flickered—not orange, not red, but a blinding, pure white. He had hidden it quickly, but the heat remained under his skin like a viper ready to strike.
Evening fell as he dressed in the ceremonial plating of a prince. He then moved through the corridors to gather his pieces.
"What are you planning now, Zuzu?"
Azula leaned against a pillar near the courtyard, her arms crossed. She had only recently returned from the academy, finding Zuko far too interesting not to try and "play" with every day.
In the original timeline, she would have been mocking him, delighting in his misery. But things had changed. Ozai hadn't discarded Zuko, so Azula hadn't needed to climb over his corpse to find their father's confirmation or mother's validation.
"Be quiet, Azula... Just follow."
She bristled, opening her mouth to retort, but the look in his eyes stopped her. Gone was the petulant glare of a brother, replaced by the dismissal of a superior. She looked away, feigning a huff of annoyance, but when Zuko turned his back, a small, crooked smile showed on her face—a smile of respect.
By the time Zuko reached the central corridor leading to the throne room, his entourage had grown. He had summoned the captain of the guard, a handful of bewildered nobles, and several high-ranking maidservants.
Ursa found them there as she rushed down the hall. The news of Lu Ten had clearly devastated her.
"Zuko?" She placed a hand on his shoulder. "What are you and your sister doing with everyone here?"
"We're going to the throne room, ,other," Zuko said as he kept his eyes on the massive double doors at the end of the hall.
"At this hour?" Ursa lowered her voice. "Your father is in there with the fire lord discussing—"
"I know exactly what they are discussing. That's why I'm here."
"Zuko, please," Ursa whispered, sensing the precipice he was walking toward. "Whatever you think you are doing—"
"Trust me." He looked at her then with golden eyes burning with a terrifying clarity. "You'll thank me later."
Ursa fell silent, feeling a sudden confusion from her son.
The group soon marched forward. The hallway was lined with imperial firebenders, standing like statues in their skull-faced helms. One of them, a captain with a scar running through his lip, stepped in front of Zuko and blocked the path with a halberd.
"Halt," the guard barked. "Prince Zuko, the fire lord, and Prince Ozai are in a private audience. No one is to enter."
The hallway went silent as the nobles behind Zuko shuffled nervously.
Zuko didn't break stride. He merely stopped inches from the guard's chest plate and demanded, "Step aside."
"My orders come from the fire lord himself," the guard insisted. Though his voice wavered. "You cannot pass."
Zuko felt the heat rising in his gut. "You dare try to obstruct me?!" At those words, the dozens of lanterns lining the hallway simultaneously shot upwards and licked the high ceiling. To everyone's surprise, the flames shifted instantly from natural orange to a blinding, incandescent white. "Out of my way!"
Azula gasped, shielding her eyes. Her own fire was blue—hot, precise, and perfect. But this? This was raw fusion. This was the heart of a star.
The guard stumbled back, dropping his halberd. d. "F-forgive me, my prince!" the guard stammered, falling to his knees as his helmet clattered against the stone.
The white flames receded as quickly as they had appeared and settled back into the broken lanterns as low, orange flickers.
Ursa pressed a hand to her chest. She had known Zuko was improving, but she had never seen power like that. Not even from her own husband.
"Open the doors," Zuko commanded.
The terrified guards scrambled to obey. And when doors groaned open, it revealed the cavernous throne room.
The chamber was sweltering, lit by the wall of flames that shielded the throne. Fire lord Azulon sat upon the dais while Ozai stood at the base of the stairs with his back to the door.
They both turned once the doors slammed open.
Ozai's face twisted in shock, then fury. "Zuko? What is the meaning of this?"
Zuko ignored his father entirely. He walked past him before stopping ten paces from the dais. Then he dropped to one knee and bowed to the old man on the throne. "Grandfather..."
Azulon leaned forward. The flames behind him flared, reacting to his irritation. "Disrespect seems to run in the family today. Your father interrupts my mourning with treasonous requests, and now you interrupt my judgment with a parade."
Zuko didn't flinch. He knew exactly where they were in the conversation. Ozai had just asked for Iroh's birthright; he had just argued that Iroh's bloodline was dead, and therefore, he should be made heir.
In moments, Azulon might have ordered Ozai to kill Zuko to understand the pain of losing a firstborn. Zuko himself wouldn't know if Azulon would indeed order this, but he did know he had to thread the needle perfectly.
"I'm not here to interrupt your judgment, grandfather... Rather, I came to facilitate it."
Ozai stepped toward him with his hands balled into fists. "You insolent little—Go back to your room immediately, or I will—"
"Silence!" Azulon rasped. Ozai froze with a tightened jaw. Then Azulon looked at Zuko. "Speak, boy. What do you mean by 'facilitate'?"
"I know your son, my uncle, the Dragon of the West, has suffered a loss that would break a lesser man. And I know that my father, rather than offering support to the family, came here to scavenge his brother's birthright like a vulture picking at a carcass."
A collective gasp went through the room. Ursa covered her mouth as Azula's eyes went wide. No one spoke to Ozai like that.
Ozai's face turned a violent shade of red. "You lie! I came to ensure the stability of the nation!"
"You came to usurp the line of succession while Lu Ten's body is not even cold," Zuko shot back, turning to face his father. The air between them shimmered with heat as Zuko turned back to Azulon. "Fire lord Azulon, I understand that Ozai has offended you greatly. His ruthless opportunism is a stain on our honor. Wherefore, allow me to enact his punishment for speaking out against Lu Ten and General Iroh."
Azulon's eyes shot wide. In his mind, all he could fathom was how sharp Zuko was—sharper than Ozai ever was or could be.
"And what punishment do you suggest, Prince Zuko?" Azulon asked. "Your father believes he is strong enough to lead. He believes he is the future, so what say you?"
"Surely you would not have Ozai kill me to teach him a lesson," Zuko said, cutting straight to the heart of the timeline. Ursa let out a small, strangled sound as Ozai stiffened. "I have shown you great favor, grandfather." Then Zuko took a step back, opening his arms.
"The best judgment for him is to face me in an Agni Kai. Right here. Right now."