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Chapter Text

Zuko was born in the dead of winter on the coldest night that the Fire Nation had seen in a century. His mother, shivering but dripping with sweat, held him close to her chest and begged him to cry. 

It was the last time he was able to cry freely and without punishment. 

His father stood in the corner, silently praying to Agni, who gazed upon him with disappointment and disgust, that their child never cried. If not to spare his wife the pain of watching him die slowly instead of all at once, then to ensure that the first of his line was strong. He hadn’t cried yet, the full moon shone bright in the sky, and the flames in the room never faltered during labor. 

Ozai didn’t want to be a failure like his brother. He didn't wish to sire an heir that was weak and without the blessings of Agni. Iroh was outside the door, waiting to hear the cries of his nephew, holding his son’s hand as he asked “why isn’t the baby making noise?” 

Iroh hoped Ozai didn’t have anything to do with it. 

—

When Zuko was one, Ursa went into his nursery, only to scream when she pulled back the blankets and revealed a black snake. Immediately, her mind went to Ozai. That he had done something to their son, released a beast to get rid of his problem. 

Upon closer inspection, Ursa discovered that the tiny snake-like creature had wings and whiskers. He had the golden underbelly that matched her son’s eyes perfectly. 

It was said that Sozin’s wife was a dragon—pink as a cherry blossom, eyes warm and brown with wings that caught flame. She wasn’t aware that another dragon existed in their bloodline. Sure, sometimes Iroh’s eyes became narrower in the bright sun—like a catopus—sometimes Ozai’s teeth were a little too sharp to be human, and sometimes Azulon’s mustache grew to look like whiskers and dry skin looked a bit too much like scales to dismiss, but Ursa had never thought too hard about it until now.  

She told Ozai, hoping that it would make him love the boy. How wrong she was.

—

When Zuko was five, he sparked his first flame. When Azula was two, she did the same. 

Ozai hoped that Zuko would either step down as future Firelord or succumb to illness. 

He did not. 

Instead, he weaseled his way into a war meeting. He spoke up, a wicked smile lighting up Ozai’s face as he watched his son so blatantly disrespect a high rank general. He determined that an Agni Kai was to be fought. Zuko accepted and Ozai was the opponent. 

He had finally found a solution to his little problem. 

—

Zuko knelt on the concrete of the arena, forehead pressed against the floor. 

“Please, father. I only had the Fire Nation’s best interests at heart! I’m sorry I spoke out of turn!” He begged, trying to dip himself lower into the bow. 

He heard his father step closer, his heart pounding in time with his pace.“You will fight for your honor.” His father demanded.

Zuko tried once more, “I meant you no disrespect, I am your loyal son.” 

Tears leaked outside of his eyes, wetting the concrete beneath his face. Internally, he felt his dragon scream out—cry for him to fight, that his father got what was coming to him and to unleash their rage. 

“Rise and fight, Prince Zuko!” Ozai screamed at him, towering over the boy. 

Zuko’s skin shifted, rippling as his dragon tried to force his way out. 

“I will not fight you.”

His father raised his hand and Zuko felt his torso begin to expand, bones in his arms began to creak and his knees try to shift backwards. Zuko had never tried to fight the transformation before, he had always let it happen. He felt his teeth sharpen in his mouth, his shoulder blades parting to allow wings to grow. 

Zuko thought that this was the most painful experience anyone could go through—resisting transformation.

“You will learn respect and suffering will be your teacher!” 

... Zuko thought wrong. 

Chapter Text

“What will you do about him?” A woman spoke. 

Her body was transparent, long white hair blowing in a non-existent breeze. Her dress swished around her ankles, a ring of fur lining the bottom, the sleeves, and the neckline. The man had never understood her wish to take on the fashion habits of her people. He could feel his sister’s stare on him like it was court and he was awaiting a punishment. 

“You cannot allow him to go free, not after what he did.” She scolded him and Agni closed his eyes, touching his fingers against his temple. “Starting the war was a grave misdeed but you could not interfere. This happened in your arena, under a competition of your name.” 

“Tui!” Agni snapped. “I know this! I am as angry and disgusted by it as you are but it is not that simple. The man—” Tui scoffed, thinking that he was more monster than man “—is not mine to take revenge upon. He is not mine to strike down in an act of vengeance. We all know that duty belongs to Raava’s charge.” 

Tui scowled. “Don’t act as though I do not know that brother. I have not forgotten all that Raava has done for us and the world. I, myself, have guided their spirit from time to time but there are other ways to interfere.” 

“The boy might not make it…” Agni sighed, eyes sad as he watched the small body on the medical cott breath too shallowly and too slowly. 

“Then make sure he does, brother.” 

“You don’t mean…” Agni paused. “We all know what happened last time I took on a ward.” 

Tui shook her head. “No one could have foreseen Sozin becoming what he did. He was friend’s with Raava’s blessed. By all means, it shouldn’t have happened.” 

“There are certain laws even we have to abide by, Tui. Blessing him will ensure hardship upon his life.”

“More than he already has?” His sister asked. 

Agni’s face softened. “The boy has dealt with so much already…”

“He didn’t have you,” Tui laid her hand on his shoulder. “It is time for me to rise, brother. You know what I think but your decision is your own.” 

She turned without another word and ascended to the sky as the moon rose over the earth. 

Agni closed his eyes and thought about it. He couldn’t punish Ozai directly but perhaps he could do something worse—pitting his son against him because of actions he caused. The boy could aid the Avatar in their journey of learning. He had a great spirit and the makings of a master firebender. 

With this thought, Agni conjured a small sun in his hand, a ball of light that was a pale gold and swirling inside of itself. He held his hands out and let it float into the boy on the cot. 

…Agni had never blessed a young dragon—especially not one that didn’t have full control over his form yet. 

…Tui didn’t warn him about this. 

…Agni perhaps needed to start thinking things through more. Especially about exerting his energy when it is night and his sun is not in the sky. 

There was nothing the spirit could do as the boy shifted abruptly into a dragon, fear flooding through his veins at the wake up with so much pain, medicine, and energy that left him disoriented. The boy, a small black dragon about the size of a twin bed, took off into the night, flying too far for Agni to follow as he faded away to the other side of the world. Agni cursed and prayed that the boy would find a safe place. 

—

The spring sun was bright over the South Pole, glimmering off of the bits of snow that still littered the ground from the last snow. The dirt on the ground caked to Hakoda’s and Bato’s boots as they trudged through the cold desert. A spear was strapped to Bato’s back and a hunting knife hung from his belt. Hakoda carried a club and a machete.

Hakoda glanced at Bato, the hairs on his neck beginning to prickle. He surveyed his surroundings, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. He put his arm up in front of Bato to stop him from moving forward. 

Bato frowned at his friend. 

“Keep your guard up,” Hakoda said. “I feel like something is wrong.” 

Bato’s face hardened. As much as he liked to mock Hakoda, Bato knew to trust his instincts. They were always right.  

Bato had first gone hunting when he was five. His father brought him along, back when his mom was still alive, to set traps. He rigged up the snares and covered the pits and secured the nets. The next time, he went hunting alone with his best friend, Hakoda. They were ten and they weren’t supposed to be out hunting alone because, while it was summer in the South Pole, the temperatures and predators were still something to worry about. 

Hakoda (just his luck) stumbled into a polar-lion’s cave and Bato was forced to shift into his dragon form, stout but long, small in relation to fully grown dragons. 

He was covered in dark blue scales, like the color you would see looking into the ocean during a storm, with a pale blue underbelly. He didn’t have much in terms of wings but his legs and tail were covered in fins that would help him glide smoothly through water. His neck was wrapped with a thick gray mane of fur and each of his ankles and the end of his tail were covered in the same. He had a stripe of it going down his spine. The fur was an adaptation that dragons usually adapt after growing up in the South Pole. It helps keep them warm in places that need it most—pulse points.

Bato hadn’t killed the polar-lion, he had no reason to. Instead he roared and puffed himself up until he looked intimidating enough for her to run back to her home. Afterall, it was around the time for babies to come into the world. Likely she was only trying to defend her cubs. However it was enough to prevent Hakoda, Bato, and any other villager that valued their lives from going near—or into—the den again. 

This is why Hakoda was left wondering why the hell Bato was currently going into polar-lion territory. He was crouched, nose sniffing and ears twitching. He stopped, closing his eyes and listening deeply. A look of panic overtook his face. 

“Ummm,” Hakoda questioned, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?” 

“There’s an injured dragon nearby,” he said, voice constraining with a biological instinct to protect and help whoever was making the ear splitting cry that Hakoda somehow could not hear . “A kid, I think. Young, I know that. Otherwise I wouldn’t be acting this way.” 

Bato began to run. Hakoda struggled to chase after him. 

Hakoda was wise, he was a natural born leader. He could instruct a hunt for the perfect, most desirable outcome (“Aake, take Toklo and go to the left, behind the snowbank. Bato, take Kanut to the other side of the herd. I’ll give the signal to move in.”) But, in all aspects of hunting besides that, Bato was the better of the two. Nevermind his dragon form, he was able to take down a Walrus-Ox with a spear from 100 paces away, hit a albatross out of the sky with a sharp rock, track down any child that went missing from the village even if it was a week prior to when they had been alerted. 

Bato was especially better at running, Hakoda remembered as he tried to catch his breath from running after his friend. Bato finally stopped, freezing in front of the cave, a large patch of snow on the ground beneath him because the shadow the cave cast prevented the sun from reaching it. 

“What’s wrong?” Hakoda panted, clasping his hands behind his head to open his lungs. “Polar-lion cubs?” 

Bato took a minute. “...it smells like death.” 

Hakoda sobered up at the observation. He followed Bato into the cave. 

Bato remembered his first transformation. He was around five years old. He and Hakoda were out on the banks of the ocean when Hakoda pushed Bato a little too hard and he had slipped on the ice and fell into the winter water. Hakoda had screamed but Bato was too transfixed on the fact that he could feel his bones rubbing together under his skin, how the water was growing warmer too fast for even hypothermia, and how he didn’t feel panicked. 

When the villagers ran to fish him out, the net brought out a small dragon, only a foot longer than Bato’s human form. In the Northern Tribe, he would have been killed—cut down the second someone saw the snake-like form that he had taken on. Babies who were a bit too comfortable with fire or a bit too warm in the cold were usually left out for a night (or a week) because it was better to have a dead child than a dragon one. 

Bato, for a split second, feared that was how the village was going to react. 

In lieu, he was met with cheers and applause. It had been years—since before the last Fire Nation raid, in fact—since they had a dragon in the village. A dragon able to protect the village, to hunt, to help. They were as rare as waterbenders nowadays. 

Bato was met with celebration.

Now, in the current circumstances, he looked upon that day with dread. Before him was a small black dragon, the left side of his face and a small portion of his snout a throbbing red. The scales around it reeked of infection, the inner portion turning a sickening white. 

Hakoda was close enough to hear the small dragon call out in pain. It was the worst sound he had ever heard. His eyes welled up as he took in its small size—smaller than Bato had been when he transformed when he was five , Tui and La if this dragon is smaller… he didn’t want to think about it any longer. His attention strayed to the wound on its face and he jerked with the urge to throw up. Bato could pick up a burning hot coal without so much as a discoloration of his fingers. How hot would fire have to have been to burn a dragon?

If he was feeling this way, he couldn’t imagine how Bato was feeling. 

The man was kneeling in the snow, taking off his outer parka and placing the small dragon into it, the thing startling away at the jostle of movement, right eye opening and darting between the strangers. He coughed, a cloud of smoke and sparks coming out of his mouth ( Tui and La, how much did it take to burn a fire dragon? ) and scrambled backwards in a panic. His scales puffed up as much as they could and he stood on his claws to try and make himself appear larger than he was.

Bato tried his best to soothe the small creature, making rumbling sounds from deep within his chest and eyes flashing between reptilian and human. The tiny dragon must have been too disoriented to notice and still tried to escape. Opting to keep it there and not have it fly off, Bato held up his hands and slowly backed away. Hakoda followed his lead, choosing to follow the dragon’s judgment in this case. 

Hakoda cursed when they were outside of the cave. “He’s… he’s so small and he’s burned—I didn’t even know you could burn a fire dragon and why didn’t he even recognize you, I thought that dragons recognized each other—”

“Hakoda,” Bato interrupted him. “He’s badly burned, his wound is infected, he has a fever and is probably delirious from waking up to two unknown men. What he needs right now is another dragon.” 

Hakoda sighed. “Okay, so you transform but what about then? You’re gonna carry him back to the village like a mama polar dog?” 

Bato glared and rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. I just want him to calm down first. But I need you to go to Kanna and tell her to prepare for him. I can’t stress how sick he is, Hakoda. You can see it but you can’t smell it. He reeks of death.” 

“I can’t leave you out here alone—”

“Hakoda, please,” Bato begged and Hakoda could see that he truly meant it. 

“Okay.” Hakoda receded. “I’ll go tell my mom. She’ll be ready when you make it back.” 

“Thank you, Hakoda.” 

Bato reached out his arm and Hakoda clasped it with his own, drawing his brother into a hug. 

“Anything.” He backed up. “You stay safe.” 

Bato nodded and watched as his friend backed off. He shook his limbs and exhaled heavily, preparing himself for the strange yet familiar feeling of shifting into his dragon.

Once he was done, nostrils blowing out steam and eyes dilating far more than any human’s could, he started into the cave. 

Bato had only met one other dragon before, a teenage boy called Nanook from the Tiger-Seal Tribe. He was different than Bato was, skillset and form made more for hunting on land than in the ocean. Still, Bato knew about the behaviors of dragons. Half from his own instincts, partly from his experiences, a lot from scrolls, and some from the elders’ spirit tales. 

He made himself as small as he could, pressing his wings and fins tight against his body as he creeped towards the scared dragon. He could see its shoulders relax more, eyes slightly distrusting but hopeful. Bato laid his head on the ground before him (Tui, this child wasn’t larger than his head) in a sign of submission—waiting for the other dragon to make the first move. The little black dragon crept away from his space tucked up against the wall and allowed himself to collapse in front of Bato. His eyes rolled back into his head and he fell asleep once more. 

Bato didn’t even think about it, he took his coat between his teeth and laid it over the little one before picking them both up so that the coat protected the child from the bitter temperatures in the South. 

—

Hakoda, as promised, was waiting outside his mother’s hut as he waited for Bato to approach. The large dragon made his way through the village, being extra careful to not step on any children that swarmed too close or any structures that they had built in the pathway. When he made it to Hakoda, he opened his mouth and let the small dragon fall into his arms before transforming back to his human form. Hakoda had his shaul ready, handing it to Bato so that he may cover himself after his transformation. 

Bato took it gratefully and followed Hakoda inside. 

It was sort of a blur after that. Bato, now fully clothed, heard Kanna cursing (Kanna never cursed) and rushing around him to grab ointments and such. She sighed and let her head hang. 

“I cannot heal him while he is in this form,” she told Bato grimly. “I have something that can force him out of it but…it may do more harm than good.” 

“Won’t he come out of it eventually?” Hakoda asked. 

Kanna shook her head. “Not if he hasn’t already. It’s really the only thing keeping him warm enough to survive the extreme temperatures—a survival instinct, if you will. His body is not conscious enough to register that he is warm. Soon, he may overheat but I don’t know if he will make it that long.” 

Hakoda opened his mouth to speak but Bato cut him off.

“Do what you have to, Kanna.”

Kanna nodded and reached behind her to grab something off of the kitchen table. 

“Bato,” Hakoda said firmly. “Are you sure? You heard her; this may kill him.” 

“If his body doesn’t kill itself first,” Bato sighed. “It’s the safer option.” 

The dragon on the table called out in his unconscious state as the medicine Kanna had poured into his mouth began to take effect. His bones began to change back to a human form—a boy that was, for all intents and purposes, skin and bones and naked as the day he was born. Kanna shouted at her son to place some clothes on him while Bato zoned out, attempting to calm his dragon that reached its arms out to comfort the boy. 

Hakoda seemed to have noticed this and said, “That’s a father’s instinct, bud.”

Bato glared and Hakoda laughed, a sound Bato was glad to hear after the wails of pain. 

“Don’t think I didn’t see the way you carried him here, in your mouth like he was your cub.” Bato’s annoyed eye roll only encouraged Hakoda’s teasing. “Maybe we should call him Bato Junior. You should probably start expanding your house, by the way, kids grow pretty fast—especially if they’re dragons.” 

Bato smacked Hakoda over the head and glared but, internally, he was thanking his best friend for the distraction in such a grim situation. He turned his attention back to the cott where the boy laid, sighing in relief when he saw Kanna tying off the bandage around his eye and the steadier rise and fall of his chest. 

“It’s hard to say,” Kanna began, “if he will make it. We simply have to let the spirits decide. All we can do is keep him clean, warm, and fed.”

Chapter Text

Sea eagles cooed from above, diving into the ocean to catch a colorful fish. The sun rose and set but no matter the temperature, the beach was always perfect. The sand was white and soft and sometimes, if you dug deep enough, you could find a shell. The water was clear and blue, cold at night and warm as it washed up on her feet in the morning. Her life was peaceful, once. 

They were happy once. 

Before Azula was old enough to see that saying “I love you” doesn’t mean “I love you”. Before she realized that her mother and father sleeping in separate rooms was unusual. Before she could firebend and all her time was taken up by practicing, and before the men in court tried to earn her father’s favor by complimenting how great his daughter had become. 

(She knows why they wanted to get so close to her father—she’d met the 18-year-old bride of General Bujing.) 

She looked fondly upon the memories she held of Ember Island. She would never admit it though, she hardly admitted it to herself. 

The days when her mother and father still held some sort of affection for each other, the days where she and Zuko weren’t rivals but siblings… the days where she was allowed to be wholeheartedly and unapologetically her. 

Azula envied Zuko in that way. He never really let father snuff out the spark of personality that burned against all odds. She never said that he was stronger than her in that way, he was just stupid. His burns were his own fault because he could have avoided it like she did. All he had to do was play good little soldier boy until their father died. 

(Azula, secretly, knew that this was no longer an act she was putting on. It wasn’t her but, then again, she doesn’t remember what she is besides the perfect prodigy.) 

Azula’s first set of teeth grew in sharp, like little needles. (Zuko has small scars in the shape of an oval on his arms and ankles.) Her nails grew like talons and her eyes became slitted when she was angry. 

By the time Azula was five, she had learned to trim her nails. By the time she was seven, Azula had learned how to control her pupils and filed down her sharpest teeth. 

By the time she was ten, she didn’t dare change into her dragon form at all. To be honest with herself, she didn’t really remember what it looked like. She remembered Zuko’s dragon though. She remembered how mother preened over his black matte scales and how she complimented the gold of his underbelly and how well it matched his eyes. She remembered that when she first shifted, mother had given her no special attention—not like she gave Zuko. 

When Ozai discovered Azula was also a dragon, he told her to never tell anyone else. The information was covered up, hidden from the public. Azula didn’t understand why. She thought her father would be proud that his daughter was such a powerful creature. 

(It wasn’t until she turned nine that she realized it was because he wasn’t a dragon. His own kid couldn’t be more powerful than him.)

Azula never let it bother her though. She kept her inner dragon hidden and obeyed everything her father told her to do. 

It stopped being a problem when she let go of the small flame that had been her true self. She supposed that keeping her constrained—tied down by metal chains of fear and loneliness and unfulfillment—had made her burn so bright that she became numb. 

Boys dotted on her and girls bowed to her, men complimented her and women waited on her. She supposed she had everything anyone would want. (Except her brother.) 

The day of the Agni Kai, Azula had visited Zuko in his room. She played the scene in her head now—over and over and over and over—as she tried to sleep. She didn’t remember how to show that she cared, so she was mean—taunting. 

“You know, if you weren’t always trying so hard, you wouldn’t be in the way,” she had goaded. 

Zuko had only frowned at her and stuttered out an excuse just like he always did when she insulted him. 

She was proud that she had her brother, two years her senior, stuttering around her because he was afraid of her. 

(She was sad her brother was afraid of her.)

When she watched their father lower his hand, full of flames, onto her brother’s face she wanted to scream at him. 

Don’t be an idiot, Zuzu! Fight back! You’re a dragon, he’s human!

She watched as her big brother let their father brand him. She saw the way his scales rippled back and forth under his skin as he fought his inner dragon. Her uncle looked away. She felt like she deserved to see and hear and smell the boiling skin ( she didn’t feel like she had the right to look away ). 

—

Azula visited Zuko in the infirmary once, in the two weeks he was there. It was after week one, when the infection had begun to take root in his skin. She watched as the healers carefully carved out sections of dead skin and white puss inside a ring of green that began to glow around his scar. 

He wasn’t awake (part of her was thankful for that. Zuko had already been put through enough pain. She’d put him through enough pain ). She didn’t get a moment alone with him. The healers said that the first few days of infection were crucial. He was never left alone, at least one healer was there at all times, giving him medicine, chiseling his face, rubbing ointment into the inflamed wound. 

(Never once did she see father come to check on what he had done to his son.) 

—

Now, standing at the funeral pyre, watching a white wrapped body burning on a wooden bamboo pyre burn, sparks flying and fire dull. 

Her father had kept on a sad face, playing the part of a grieving father. She saw the glint in his eyes though, the one that he got when he felt good about himself. It made her sick. 

She never showed vulnerability in front of Mai and Ty Lee. She didn’t cry, keeping a somber expression (crying is to be expressed into a feather pillow where no one could hear you) but she didn’t think she could keep it up much longer. 

So, under large sleeves, she reached her hands out to Mai, on her left, and Ty Lee, on her right, and had to hold back a sigh of relief as they locked pinkies with her and squeezed in a comforting gesture. 

She was also thankful that they didn’t bring it up again, they never talked about it, but Azula saw how after the funeral, the three of them grew closer than they had ever been. 

(Azula didn’t want to think about how it was probably because it was the first time that they realized she was a person, not a monster.) 

Chapter Text

Keep following a wounded animal until you get it. Leaving a wounded animal will bring bad luck. Never allow an animal to suffer.

Kanna had lived a long life. She had seen more than her fair share of suffering, had caught more than her fair share of fish, and delivered more than her fair share of life into the world. 

She’d lived through the harshest of winters—stocking up on wood and running out of food a day before the worst of the blizzard was over. Her fingers had gone blue, her lips purple, and her nose had dripped with icicles innumerable times. She had been a healer, a mother, and, as her son and granddaughter would call her, a warrior. 

The last Fire Nation raid had taken her daughter from her—her son’s wife and mother of his children. There had been no survivors on the side of the Southern Raiders—something Kanna began to expect from raids. Kanna would always check for survivors; no matter how many times she came back to the chief (who is now her son and she could not be prouder ) and shook her head, no matter how many times she would scout the snowy land and see a soldier laying with his throat slit, a small knife held in his hand with his blood on it. She did this out of obligation as a healer and as an obligation to her tribe. No matter how evil, how vile, the Fire Nation was, no one deserved to freeze to death with a wound that would take a few days to kill them. 

Kanna had neglected her duty to check every body for anything that would signal life. She’d figured that if they wished to die, to let them die and if they wished to be saved, they would swallow their pride and come to her. It was her first year as the healer of the Wolf Tribe and they had the harshest winter they had seen in over a decade that year. 

Her friend Nini’s family froze, taken by hypothermia. Ten babies were born that winter, some never cried and some cried but failed to make it to spring. 

She remembered crying one day in the Long House, where the entire village had gathered to survive after they’d already had too many casualties of winter. Apaata, the only remaining angakkuq in the South and an old waterbender that had lived in the Southern Water Tribe his entire life and survived just as many raids as his age, had approached her, sitting on the wooden bench beside her with a tremble in his knees and a tight grip on his malacca [walking stick]. 

“Live and let live,” he had grumbled in a scratchy but comforting voice. “Do you know what we mean by that, Kanna? It means that we respect others' choices so that they may respect ours.” He looked down at her. “The Fire Nation do not see taking the life of a Water Tribesman as a grave misdeed. They are not like us. We value all life, we kill but only when it is absolutely necessary like in a hunt. Even then, our men pay respects to the soul of the deceased. It does not mean that we let them die for their opinions.”

Kanna, filled with both rage and self-hatred, snapped back, “They don’t respect ours, so what’s the point?” 

“The point is that we need to stay loyal to ourselves and our beliefs,” Apaata said, smiling at her outburst like she had said something wise. “But you are headstrong and may not understand that yet in your youth. So instead, I may offer you this piece of advice: When we live, let us live.”

“What does that mean?” Kanna asked. 

Apaata smiled like he had remembered an old friend and tilted his head to look at the wooden roof. “When we do this, we focus on the brevity of life compared to thinking that we have time to do what matters. We lose sight of the ‘now’ as we live our lives. We grasp it on occasions when we pause to consider our mortality and how little time we have compared to how much time there really is. But most of the time we are living—not thinking about how we are living.”

“I don’t get it,” Kanna frowned. 

“Do not dwell on what has happened,” Apaata told her. “But focus on what is happening now. Live in the moment, do not be burdened by what you cannot change.” 

Apaata stood, stumbling his way over to a circle of children gathered by one of the many fires in the room. They greeted him with hugs and laughs, begging for him to tell them a story. 

Kanna was left with her thoughts and the words that the man had given her. 

Kanna never failed to check every body since that night and never had any regrets about who she could and could not save…

…Until her son’s best friend brought in a young boy with a burn the shape of a hand covering half of his face and eyes more golden than any she’d seen on any Fire Nation soldier. Kanna admits that she has grown colder to life in her older age, harsh and more like her old friend Hama who could scare away a wolf-bear with a single look, but seeing the small boy before her, laying too still, Kanna felt uneasy. 

Looking down at the boy, she realized that she had qualms about her task. He was a black dragon and a firebender—a dangerous combination. Black dragons were said to bring bad luck (Kanna never believed in superstitions until Nini’s death) because they were a symbol of death and destruction. 

Her village was still recovering, the entire South was, and an omen of this proportion was sure to doom them even more. Were there more Fire Nation soldiers in the South? Did the boy come with a company or alone? 

…And would his quality of life if he recovered doom him to a worse fate than death?

She sighed and wrapped his wound, covering him with a blanket. 

Her son came through the door to the hut as she walked away from the body lying on their kitchen table. 

“Mom?” Hakoda asked. “How is he?” 

Kanna didn’t answer his question but she did say, “I’m going to go lay down now.” 

Hakoda frowned after her, brows cinching in concern. 

Agni was pulled through the sky by his sister, coming to rest above the Southern Water Tribe. 

“What?” He whined. “I was working.”

“I think you lost something,” Tui said, glaring at him and pointing to the ground, where Agni could see his charge. 

“Oh…” Agni said. “So that’s where he went. Oops.”

“Oops?” She drawled and Agni could sense a lecture coming and flinched. “ Are you out of your mind! ” She screeched at him. “That boy is a firebender! In the Poles! Where it’s dark six months out of the year!” 

Agni winced. “Yeah, he came here on his own.” 

Tui sucked in a sharp breath. “Were you not watching him?” 

“I had to work!” Agni tried to defend himself. “You know how it is to be a celestial being!” 

“And you know how it is to be a patron!” Tui yelled. “That boy is your responsibility and now he’s going to die.” 

Agni frowned and cast his gaze to the still body of his charge on the cot. 

“Unless…” Agni trailed off, giving his sister polar-puppy eyes. “You could bless him…” 

Tui glared at her brother even harder, if it was possible. “And why would I do that?” 

“Because this was your idea?” 

That was the wrong thing to say. 

“ My idea? My idea? I wasn’t the one to bless him. I wasn’t the one to grant him the form of the dragon—” 

“—you know I have no control over that, Tui!”

“—and you blame me ?! Why in my wildest decisions, would I bless your charge? Your charge. Not mine! ” 

Agni doesn’t speak, he knows that his sister cares too much to let an innocent boy die when she can help it. 

“Fine.” She finally relents. “But you owe me.”

“Of course,” Agni sighs, grinning. “Whatever you want.” 

“But!” She exclaims (of course there was fine print, Agni thought). “I want to meet this boy first.” 

“This place used to be so beautiful…” Zuko heard a woman’s voice whisper. 

He whipped around, spinning in a circle to see if he could see who said that but no one was there.

As a matter of fact, Zuko didn’t recognize where he was at all. All he knew was that it was dark and he was cold. He wrapped his arms around himself, hugging his body to preserve warmth.

He could see his breath. 

“It was my favorite place in the world.” The woman continued. 

He could see a light and realized that he was in the mouth of a cave but it was dark and the stars were out. What he didn’t know was that the moon was right next to him. 

“It was destroyed by the Fire Nation,” she said, appearing on Zuko’s left side. 

He jumped. 

“Agni’s people have wronged so many.” 

Zuko took a moment, processing the glowing woman in front of him. She was like something he would see at an Ember Island play—dressed up with gems like twinkling stars and her hair intricately done in loops and braids and curls. Except it was better quality. 

“You are Agni’s child,” she spoke again, paying no mind to Zuko’s gawking. “A dragon and a firebender. Your soldiers have killed my people. Your Lord has caused more destruction in the last hundred years than has been seen in nearly a millennium.

“But it is unfair for a spirit to pick sides in a war. Choosing a celestial body as your patron does not mean the rest of the world does not grow from the sun or that it is not blessed by the moon.” 

Zuko’s eyes glanced at the crescent moon in her hair. “You’re Tui, aren’t you?” He asked. “Agni’s sister.”

Tui smiled down at Zuko. “You’re a smart boy, Zuko. It is yet another blessing bestowed upon you.” 

“What do you mean?” He inquired. 

Tui took a step forward, bending down and touching the ground, where a spring of water sprouted from her fingertips—the dark pool illuminating with the light of a thousand moons. She twirled her finger around in it and an image popped up. 

Zuko crept closer. 

It was himself, he noted. Laying on a wooden table, covered in blue and fur. He almost didn’t recognize his body because of the large scar on his face. 

“You have the blessing of Agni,” she finally answered him. “The blessing of Ryuu—spirit of dragons,” she waved at Zuko to sit beside her, “and you are smart, a blessing of its own. Now what I have to decide is if I shall add another blessing to your load.” 

“I don’t understand,” Zuko frowned. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

Tui flashed him a pitiful smile. “I know, little boy. It’s all confusing for you humans but especially so for one as young as you.”

She sat silent for a moment before declaring, “I like you, Zuko.”

“Thank you, Lady Tui,” he said, not knowing any other way to show gratitude towards a spirit. 

“You won’t remember this when you wake up, Zuko,” she said, reaching her hand up and pressing two luminescent fingers to the center of his forehead, “but I will. You have my blessing.” 

“He’s awake!” Nanook called out to Kanna, springing out of his seat at the Chief’s dinner table. 

His shoulders sagged. “Nevermind, he’s asleep again.” 

“Why won’t he stay awake, Gran-Gran?”  Katara asked Kanna, tugging on her sleeve. 

“He is a dragon,” Kanna said. “He does not do well here.” 

“But Bato does just fine!” 

“Bato is a water dragon, he is a fire dragon,” she explained. 

Sokka, sitting on the ground next to Nanook, frowned. “I don’t get it.” 

Katara placed her hands on her hips. “You never get anything,” she poked. 

Sokka scowled at her and pounced. The two engaged in a small tussle on the ground of their house, pulling hair but not causing any real damage. Sokka, in a desperate attempt to escape his sister, ran and smacked his head against something soft. He fell back and looked up. 

Healer Kustaa was peering down at him, frown etched into his large beard and bushy eyebrows covering his eyes. 

“So-sorry, Healer Kustaa,” Sokka stuttered and darted out the door. 

Kustaa shook his head. 

“The traders from Kyoshi had honey. I asked around about Goldenseal but because it is so difficult to obtain, they had none.” 

“Will the honey work?” Kanna asked, coming to stand next to Kustaa, observing how he dipped his hand into the bowl and gently smeared it over the boy’s wound. 

“Just fine,” Kustaa grunted. “But fine isn’t good. Goldenseal is good. Goldenseal helps heal the inside. Honey draws out infection from the outside.” 

He sealed the small container of honey and wiped his sticky fingers against a cloth on the bench. 

“I told them to keep an eye out and to bring it if they see any but I doubt they’ll come across it before he dies.” 

Nanook cringed as Katara shouted, “He’s gonna die?!” next to his ear. 

“Uh… no,” he said, wincing at Kanna’s glare. “I-I meant before he might die. If he does. He should be fine though.” 

Nanook rolled his eyes. “He’s just a pessimist, Katara. Don’t pay any attention to what he says.” 

“But he’s a better healer than Gran-Gran?” 

Kustaa laughed. “Not true, Katara.” 

“Then why did she need your help?” Katara frowned. 

“Healer Kustaa knows more about dragons than I do, Katara,” Kanna explained, petting her granddaughter’s head with her gloved hand. “We have only had Bato and he hasn’t run into any trouble as serious as this.” 

“I spent a summer in the Earth Kingdom when I was an apprentice,” Kustaa mused. “They have a vast library on research about dragons. I even got to heal a few myself.” 

“Father…” the sleeping boy mumbled, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “No… please…” 

“He’s talking,” Kustaa shrugged. “That’s good.” 

“It’s not coherent,” Kanna hummed. 

“I said good, not great, Gran-Gran.” 

From that point on, the boy woke up in hazy intervals, always confused and always in pain.

“Why’s my face sticky?” He asked on time. 

Nanook was watching him. (Unfortunately). 

“You stuck your head in a scorpion bee’s nest,” he deadpanned. “You should have more respect towards nature.” 

The boy groaned. “Sorry, mother.” 

Nanook couldn’t control his laughter. 

“Azula, don’t throw bread at the turtle ducks,” he whispered one time. 

“What are turtle ducks?” Sokka asked him. 

“Don’t be stupid, Zula.” 

Kanna was in the room when a white stripe appeared in the back of his head, behind his ear. A blessing from the spirits. 

Kustaa was in the room when he began reciting poems that the healer vaguely recognized as something from a theatrical performance. 

Hakoda was in the room when he cried out for his mother. 

Bato was in the room when he began screaming for mercy from his father. 

“It was horrible, Hakoda,” he told his best friend when they were the only two left eating around the fire. “You, you should have heard it. He’s too young to know that kind of pain.” 

Hakoda placed a hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “You were too young to know that kind of pain.” 

Bato turned to his friend with tears glittering in his eyes. “This was worse… so much worse.” 

He hung his head into his hands as Hakoda wrapped him in a hug. 

“I can’t be there for him,” Bato said after a long span of silence. “I’m not his father, no matter how much my dragon tells me to be.” 

“You know how hard it is to resist your biology, Bato,” Hakoda told his friend. “You know what Healer Kustaa warned you about. Resisting can have disastrous consequences on your mind and body.” 

“I don’t care,” Bato growled. “I’m not his father.” 

Hakoda knew his anger was displaced. 

“No,” he sighed. “But maybe you can be better.”

Chapter Text

Zuko was on the beach. 

It was the first thing he noticed when he opened his eyes. He felt the sand beneath his feet, wiggling its way between his toes. The ocean had a very distinct smell. Salt, a fresh breeze, and just slightly fish-y. 

He knew the beach he was on immediately. Ember Island. 

He knew he was dreaming, looking down at his hands and seeing an extra finger on each. Still, this was his happy place even with twelve fingers. 

He sat down, hearing the waves and the birds. 

The sun began to set, filling his sky with a swirl of pinks, oranges, and purples. But, as the sun touched the horizon—until the water seemed to drop off the edge of the earth—the moon didn’t come up but the sun didn’t dip any further either. Instead, it touched the water and shined so bright that Zuko had to bring his forearm up to cover his eyes. 

When it began to dissipate, he brought his arm down and blinked rapidly to off-set the black spots that dotted his vision. When they disappeared, a man was in front of him. 

Objectively, Zuko thought he was very attractive. ( Objectively . Platonically. Just observational.)

He had golden strands of hair tied up in a topknot, two Kanzashi [metal hair pins] in the shape of dragons securing it against his head. Despite his attempts to keep it up, the curly hair defied him, hanging down at the nape of his neck and with more side pieces hanging down than was required for any sort of fashion choice. He had tan brown skin that the sun reflected off of, as if he were covered in oil. He was shirtless, the only fabric covering him was a multicolored loin cloth that hung gently off of his hips, framing the little pouch of stomach that hung over the band around his waist. 

It wasn’t that he was fat. In fact, he was toned. His arms and legs had defined muscles that Zuko couldn’t stop staring at (because they were impressive, of course, no other reason. Why do you ask?) His stomach was sure to have abs if he flexed them but, resting, he simply had a heavy torso.

If Agni were more mature for a celestial spirit, their meeting might have gone more like this: 

“Who are you?” Zuko asked in awe. 

The man smiled kindly. Zuko looked at him and thought that, while this man was staring down at him with nothing but care, he would be horrified if someone got on his bad side. 

“I think you know, itᵉ ryu (3).” He told him, kneeling before Zuko in the sand. “We are one now.” 

Zuko’s eyes watered. “I don’t—I don’t…”

“It’s alright,” the man said, voice as soothing as the morning sunrise. “I am Agni.” 

Zuko gasped, bowing his head until his chin clanked uncomfortably against his chest. 

“No, no, none of that.” 

Agni weaseled his pointer finger under Zuko’s chin, bringing it up so that Zuko faced him. 

His eyes sparkled. Zuko’s chest filled with warmth. 

But Agni was not a more mature celestial spirit so Zuko’s first time meeting his patron was like this:

“Be not afraid,” the (hot) man said. “I come in peace.”

“Who—who are you?” 

The man deadpanned. “The sun? Agni? You think you’d recognize your patron when you see him!”

Zuko immediately dropped forward, folding his hands together and lunging into a deep bow. “Forgive—forgive me, Great Agni.”

Agni shrugged. “Get up, kid. I really don’t understand human’s tendencies to bow when there is really no need. My sister likes it for some reason, it makes her feel powerful, I think.”

Zuko stared at Agni, confused. 

Agni clasped his hand around Zuko’s shoulder, grinning down at the boy. “You’ll do alright, kid.” 

Another flash of white light flickered and then Zuko was left in darkness. 

Come sleep come

Zuko usually had a hard time falling asleep. 

Come down from the twinkling stars and shine dreams in his eyes

The bud sleeps, the garden sleeps, the wind sleeps underneath the peepal tree

You have painted all in the same color, what miracle have you wrought

Come sleep come

Bato sneezed into his coat sleeve, shaking his head at himself. Hakoda stared at him. 

“What?” Bato snapped, checking a trap from the safety of the canoe.

Hakoda shrugged, looking away. “Nothing.” 

Bato sighed exasperatedly. “Oh, come out with it, ‘koda. You’ve never been shy about your opinions or snarky comments before.” 

Hakoda hesitated. “You’ve never been sick before and all of the sudden you’re sneezing and coughing. Just think it’s weird.” 

“First time for everything,” Bato grumbled, holding in another sneeze that tingled at the crown of his head. 

“And it just so happens to be when that kid—”

“—Hakoda—”

“—and Kanna said that you would experience physical symptoms if you resisted your biology—”

“—Hakoda!”

“I’m just making an observation, Bato, that’s all.” 

Bato rolled his eyes. “Not even Kanna is this passive aggressive.” 

Hakoda laughed and pushed Bato into the cold water. 

A scaled head came up not minutes later with a glare in its eyes. It sneezed, shaking it’s head in surprise. 

Hakoda laughed harder. 

Bato huffed and rocked the canoe with his tail. 

Hakoda fell into the ocean. 

“I thought you boys would stop messing around when Hakoda had kids…” Kanna tutted, disappointed, and wrapped a blanket around Hakoda’s shoulders. 

“I’m fine, Ma,” Hakoda grumbled but tugged the fur closer to his body. 

Bato laughed from his belly. “Look at you, still being scolded by your mother.” 

Kanna raised her hand, slapping Bato over the head with a ‘thwack!’. 

“Don’t think you’re not in trouble either! Pushing your human friend into freezing water! He could have died, he could have gotten sick! He could still get sick! If my boy died on your watch, I would make you suffer so much you wish you could experience the same fate—it doesn’t matter that I think of you as a son, I will rain down—”

A weak groan interrupted Kanna’s tangent, causing her to turn and scurry over to the sick boy. 

Hakoda and Bato shared a wide-eyed stare, both thankful that the boy stopped Kanna from striking the fear of the spirits into them.

The boy coughed, pushing Kanna’s hand away from where she brushed back his growing hair to check his temperature. 

“Where—where am I?” He croaked, eye wide in fear as he tried to scuttle of the table. “Who are you people?”

Chapter Text

Iroh is haunted by the ghosts of his past, present, and future. 

At night, he dreams of the land where the sand turns to stone and cracks like his heart. He dreams of speckled plants and thirsty soldiers and disgruntled refugees already fleeing the towns they would be passing through. 

Back then, Iroh only thought that they were idiots to not embrace the Fire Nation. 

Now, Iroh knows that it was he who was the idiot, for trying to impose the will of his father upon innocents. 

His life is now a waking nightmare, reminded every day by the lack of laughter in the halls of what his brother had done to his own son. He visited Zuko’s shrine every morning and every night, lighting the incense and cleaning the wax from the candles. He brought Zuko steamed eggs in the morning and seaweed rice rolls, specially made by the kitchen staff for their beloved prince. 

Iroh had never once seen Ozai visit the grave of his only son. 

Iroh dreams of what could have been. 

He sees himself flying, a round but long dragon, with green scales colored like the moss in the pond where Zuko cared for turtleducks. He had white fur, and long whiskers that matched his usual facial hair. Beside him was a black dragon, a golden underbelly reflecting the sun as he flew upside down. On his other side, to his surprise, was a deep blue dragon, dark as the night sky. Her eyes crinkled and Iroh saw lightning dance within them. Azula . 

As they fly, the black dragon that Iroh knew as Zuko, dove below the clouds. Iroh could feel his heartbreak even in the dream. Then Azula, lightning dancing on her wings, allowed the wind to carry her beneath his large green ones as though she was allowing Iroh to shield her or to guide her; he did not know which. 

He shot up in his bed, gray hair plastered to his forehead by sweat though the chill in the air was enough to keep the condensation from anyone else’s body. Iroh knew then that he did not have a dream. It was a vision. 

The spirits were guiding him—guiding him to Azula. 

—

“Uncle,” sneered Azula as she approached Iroh on the old warship turned joy cruiser. Behind her were servants of various ages carrying heavy trunks. “I have no idea how you tricked Father into taking me on a cruise but know I won’t enjoy a second of it.” 

Iroh simply gave a hearty laugh. “Niece, I simply wish to spend time with you! Since your brother’s death, I have regretted how little time I spent with him. I do not wish to have the same thing happen to you.” 

“Don’t worry, Uncle. I’m not as weak as Zuzu was,” Azula cruelly commented and rolled her eyes but Iroh could see the spark of hurt at the reminder of her late brother. 

“Do not worry, I will also teach you some firebending, young Azula.” Iroh chuckled. “I do not wish for you to fall behind in your studies while we are away. I think you are at a high enough level to learn my breath of fire, yes?” 

Azula perked up at that, as visibly excited as she could allow herself to be. Iroh thought that would work. 

“Fire breath? I’m sure I will master that in no time. Do you have anything else to teach me?” 

Iroh stood firm as the ship jolted, backing away from the docks. He ignored the way Azula ran her hand over the railing and did not grip it as the boat began to rock with the sea. 

“I am sure I have much to teach you. We have a few months until we reach our destination and I have no doubt you will be as excellent as your tutors say.” 

Azula preened under the affection from someone who didn’t grovel to her, Iroh noticed. 

“Where are we going anyway, Uncle?” She asked, trailing her way to the bow of the ship. 

Iroh followed after her dutifully. 

“We are going to visit the first firebenders, Azula.” Iroh resisted laughing at how her eyes widened. “We are going to the ruins of the Sun Warriors.”