Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ruins were common in the Fire Nation and in the other elemental lands. Civilizations rise and fall, cities and borders shifting with whoever was in power at the time. Fire Lord Zuko had been through too many to count, most being experiences that could have been better.

However, here he was, picking his way through the rubble of something that might have been a spiritual hub at some point. He'd been in enough to know the general layout that those kinds of buildings went for. It was constructed out of stone, walls half crumbling and letting a breeze flow through. Since it was hot and humid, making clothes stick to sweaty skin, Zuko was sure that his friends appreciated the small reprieve. 

That didn't stop Sokka from complaining about other things. 

"I'm just saying, the likelihood of finding anything useful in a stuffy old ruin is slim to none," the Water Tribe warrior commented as he trudged up to the central piece in the middle of the courtyard. It looked like it had once been a fountain of some kind. He kicked a loose rock and it bounced uselessly off the rim.

Katara snorted and rolled her eyes as Aang fluttered down from checking out the statues centered over the doors pointing in the cardinal directions. 

"Yes we can! We've found loads of things before," the Avatar chirped, grinning.

"Oh yeah? Name one thing that we've found that was actually useful in the long run," Sokka challenged, one hand on his hip while the other pointed at Aang. 

Zuko raised his eyebrow, wondering if he was being serious or just stubborn. 

Aang's smile grew impish and looked at the lemur that had been riding his shoulder for the last minute or so. Then looking Sokka dead in the eyes, he said, "Momo."

Sokka slapped a hand over his face, dragging it down. "Momo isn't a thing."

Momo screeched in agreement, launching off of Aang's shoulder to perch somewhere else.

"No, but he is useful," Katara joined in, probably more to poke fun at her brother than actually caring about the argument.

Sokka opened his mouth to continue bickering with his sister but Zuko tuned him out. He'd heard enough of them to get the general gist—which was arguing for the sake of arguing—and was more interested in what Toph was doing. 

The teenage master earthbender was crouched in front of the fountain, both hands splayed on the stone. She didn't twitch when Zuko lowered himself down beside her, her sightless eyes scrunched in concentration. 

When she finally took her hands away and sat back on her heels, he made an inquisitive sound. 

"These stones are old , Sparky," she answered, a bit of wonder in her voice. Not that he would point it out. He knew better than to incur her wrath.

"How old?" he asked instead, picking up a pebble to rub his fingers over the smooth surface.

"Older than the Air Temples."

Zuko whistled, his brow rising. Toph had mentioned before that the Air Temples were built before the Palace in Caldera City, so for these ruins to be older…  

“Really?” Aang asked, breaking off from the argument between the two siblings. “How can you tell?” 

“You tell me, Twinkletoes,” Toph snarked. Aang pouted at her, which looked just as endearing on a sixteen year old as it was when he was twelve. It was wasted on Toph, and he came over anyway. Squatting down beside her, he closed his eyes and placed his own palms on the worn stone. 

Leaving the two master earthbenders to it, Zuko got up to take a closer look at the statues adorning the courtyard. They were very worn down by the elements, the only one he could confidently identify was the dragon over the western door.

The Fire Nation was in the west.

Zuko wondered if that meant anything. 

“Hey, there's a chamber below us!” Aang gasped, making everyone look at him. He was staring at the floor in wonder. 

“You finally noticed?” Toph teased, punching the Avatar in the arm. 

Aang scowled playfully before asking, “How do we get down there?” 

Toph raised a brow in his general direction that screamed scorn and slid into a stance. She shifted her weight and picked up a foot.

“Wait,” Sokka interjected before she could slam it down. 

“Really, snoozles? I thought you wanted to get this trip over with. Something about it just being spiritual nonsense?” Toph complained, but obayed. 

“And you know how much I like to say stupid stuff,” Sokka shot back. “But we don’t know what’s down there. Can you tell if it's manmade or naturally formed? If it’s constructed by people, we might break something busting down there.”

"I thought you said ruins were useless," Zuko said wryly, a smirk tugging at his face.

"And I stand by that. But let's not destroy something before we know for sure."

Aang’s brows scrunched in concentration as both of them listened to the earth but Toph was the one to speak first. Which wasn’t that surprising. Even if Aang had come a long way with his bending after the end of the war, Toph was still far better.

“Manmade,” she reported. “There’s some kind of machine stuff in each of the rooms around us."

“There is?!” Sokka practically skipped into the one closest to him, which was also the one that pointed south. Katara smiled at his excitement as they all followed him in. 

“That looks like the door that was in Avatar Roku’s temple!” Aang gasped, speeding over to it. Zuko agreed with him, eyeing the odd contraption at the end of the small door. There was a slab of stone, which sort of looked like an altar, and pipes with intricate carvings were mounted above it. 

“Maybe it opens the way down?” Katara asked, a hand already lowering to her hip flask. 

“It’s possible,” Sokka mused. “We just have too—wait wait wait, don’t do that now!” he screeched when he heard her bend the water out and towards the pipes. 

Katara scowled then brought the water back, crossing her arms and leveling him with a look. 

“We need to look at the other rooms first,” Sokka explained. 

“Got it!” Aang chirped and sped out of the room. 

The Gaang spent the next twenty minutes or so inspecting each room, finding a contraption in each. They were all connected to the elements, air in the north, earth towards east, with fire in the west. Which was kinda obvious considering which creature was guarding the door. 

Coming back to the courtyard, they pitched a couple of ideas back and forth on how to activate them. Sokka thought it might be a lock of some kind and they had to use them in a certain order, which Katara then sarcastically asked how they would figure that out. 

Toph still wanted to bust through. 

“Oh! Zuko—what if it’s like with the Sun Warriors?” Aang gasped, hitting his arm a couple of times. 

“Ow! Stop it,” Zuko groused, batting him away. “Which part? The light thing or the firebending kata?”

“Dancing moves,” Sokka teased.

“Shut up.”

“The kata,” Aang answered, ignoring the bickering. “We both had to do it at the same time. What if this is like that?”

“But weren't the Sun Warrior temples built differently than Temples?” Katara pointed out. 

“Yeah, but this place is older than those places, sugar queen,” Toph butting in, flicking a small stone at her.

Katara shot her an exasperated look, dusting the place where it hit her arm. “I thought you just wanted to destroy stuff.”

Toph shrugged. 

“It can’t hurt to try,” Sokka admitted, bringing the conversation back to focus. “We don’t really have any better ideas right now anyway.”

Zuko nodded, turning on his heels and heading back into the fire chamber, knowing that the others would go to theirs while Sokka stayed in the middle. 

“Ready?” he asked, and Zuko prepared a flame to throw at the lock. “On one, two, three!”

Zuko sent out a fire blast, hitting the nozzle deadcenter. The old pipes rattled with the sudden heat making the room shudder. 

“Oh! It’s working!” Sokka called excitedly before cutting off with a yelp.

“Sokka!” The group of them cried out as they saw the watertribe warrior fall into the gap in the floor that had slid out from under his feet. Katara got there first, her water at the ready to dive in after him. 

“I’m okay! I didn’t fall that far!” Sokka yelled up at that, laying at the bottom of a set of stairs, rubbing the back of his head.

Katara groaned and muttered about stupid brothers and hard heads. The group followed her down, finding themselves in another chamber, this one lit with eerie green crystals. 

"These were under Ba Sing Se," Aang commented, reaching up to touch one of them. Zuko didn't need to copy him to know that the light they gave off didn't come from heat. They burned with a cold fire, something he couldn't sense with his bending. 

"Yeah, but those looked like they grew organically. These are uniform, they have to have been placed like this," Sokka said, squinting at one.

"That's nice and all but I'm more interested in that thing," Toph cut in, marching to the center of the room. Now that she had brought their attention to it, Zuko noticed what she meant. In the middle of the circular room, some kind of dimly glowing white orb was resting on a pedestal. 

“Oh no,” Aang stopped dead, looking at it in apprehension. 

“What? What’s wrong?” Katara asked, her hand going to her water flask again. 

Instead of answering her, Aang turned to glare at Zuko. “Don’t you dare touch it.”

“I’m not going to! Why are you looking at me like that?” Zuko snapped, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. 

“Because the last time we found a glowing egg-thing in the middle of a secret room, in a ruin, we got stuck in goo for five hours,” Aang retorted. 

Sokka and Toph started cackling, leaning on each other for support as Zuko glared at the monk.

 “That was years ago, I know better. Besides, I got Durk out of it so it wasn’t that bad.”

“‘Not that bad’? Five hours , Zuko!” 

“As fun as this is,” Katara cut in before they could really start arguing, a smile tugging at her face, “we really should look at it. It could be something important.”

“The Sunstone was important too,” Aang pointed out, but relented, following her.

“It was a dragon egg,” Zuko hissed at him, but also made his way over to the pedestal. He pointedly kept his arms crossed over his chest, sending a sour look at anyone who was still laughing. 

Toph chuckled and punched his arm. “Well, I can safely tell ya that this is some kind of rock, Sparky. No eggs here.”

Zuko grunted and pushed her head away. She was just about to retaliate when Katara cleared her throat. Zuko backed off, but shifted his weight in a way that he knew Toph would understand. 

She gave an unlady-like snort and kicked the earth, making him lose his balance for a second as a final attack. Just so he knew she wasn’t intimidated by the waterbender. 

“So if it’s a rock of some kind, what do you guys think it is?” Sokka inquired, bending down to look at it closer. 

“Sokka,” Aang warned. 

“Chill. I’m not going to touch it. I’m not stupid,” he added, shooting a smirk at Zuko. 

Zuko groaned good naturedly and rolled his eyes. At this point he was well used to being the butt of a joke and didn’t feel as insecure about it. He’d been their friend for long enough. 

“Well, judging by the murals and how hidden it is, it has to be important to whoever left it here,” Katara pointed out. 

“Murals?” Aang perked up, following his girlfriend to where she’d move to see them. Surprisingly well preserved on the back wall was a painting, with whatever the glowing orb was in the center. Around it danced a bender of each of the elements, showing how they were in complete harmony with each other. 

“Wow. These look amazing,” Aang gushed, squatting to see some detailing near the floor. “I wonder who this place belonged to. I’ve never heard of a group of all four nations living together in harmony. You’d think that would have been remembered.”

“Or that’s exactly why it wasn’t,” Sokka cut in. “What? Don’t give me that look. We of all people know how powerful people will erase whole civilizations just because they don’t fit into their narrative.”

Zuko nodded. “And people will always fear what they don’t understand,” he added solemnly.

Aang sighed then looked a little closer at whatever he was in front of. “Hey, what’s that?” he asked, reaching out and running his finger over something on the wall. 

The gem embedded there immediately flared with blindingly white light, making everyone cry out and cover their eyes. Zuko squinted against the glare, watching as all of Aang's tattoos started to glow, as if he was using the Avatar State. 

“Aang!” Katara yelled and Zuko thought she moved towards him but more light brightened, blinding Zuko. Sudden vertigo made him tip forwards. 

He couldn’t remember if he hit the ground. 

*

Zuko fought to open his eyes, every movement ten times harder than it was supposed to be. He was warm and something heavy pressed down on him, trapping him. It was as if there was a heavy blanket tucked around him, cocooning him. It reminded him too much of when he’d woken on his ship, freshly burned and banished. 

Except there was no creaking of old metal, or the gentle sway as the ship glided through too cold waters. 

He couldn’t hear anything, in fact. Silence that he wasn’t used to blanketed him, making it hard to perceive anything. 

Then, without warning, he could. 

It wasn’t much, everything was still overlayed with a hazy fog, but he heard voices. He couldn’t perceive much of anything about them, emotion or inflection, except that it was some kind of argument by what they were saying.

“—should have gotten rid of that thing—”

“—done. There is no use changing things now—”

“—the balance was still so fragile, there’s no way of knowing how things will go now.”

A cool hand landed on his brow, slim fingers caressing his hair. Zuko tried to move, either to bat the hand away or lean into the gentle touch, yet could not.

“Perhaps this is a blessing,” a third voice spoke, cutting off the others. “It will be too late to save our children, but perhaps not for you, Yue.” 

A silence fell.

“Very well. It is fortunate that it was these five that found—”

“I agree. We will not interfere.”

The hand withdrew and with it Zuko’s wakefulness. He sunk back into unconsciousness.

*

Next time, he woke to the crashing of waves against a shore. The sound was familiar and reminded him of Ember Island, the rhythmic sound threatening to lull him back to sleep. 

Yet, that in itself snapped him awake. He shouldn’t be near any coast. Quickly, he tried to find out where he was without opening his eyes, in case whoever brought him there was still around. 

The sun was warm on his skin, but not overly, so it probably was early morning or later in the day. He also found that he wasn't just hearing the ocean, he was also feeling it. Somehow, he was laying half in the surfe, the lower part of his body in the water. Rough gravel shifted under him, so unlike the soft sand that circled Ember Island. Ocean birds cried out above him, loud enough to be heard over the crashing waves.

But no chatter of people.

Slowly opening his eyes, Zuko found himself squinting at a treeline, the forest thick on the edge of the rocky beach. It was blindingly bright, the noon sun beating down on him. Which was strange because it didn’t feel like it, at all. It should have been heating his skin more than it was, always a touch away from burning. 

Not that firebenders could sunburn. 

Something felt wrong, in a way that he didn't understand. The air itself felt different, too pungent. The stink of salt and fish brine seemed to be stronger than he was used to, which was weird considering he spent all his life around the ocean plus three years imprisoned on a ship. 

The other thing that became apparent quickly was that he was alone. Whoever had brought him here had vanished, abandoning him. Nor could he sense any of his friends, when normally Toph or Sokka would be making some kind of racket.

Well. The first order of business was finding out where he was. 

Also if the others were close so that he could find them.

A part of him did, so that they could face this new threat together, like they had so many times before. The other half hoped that they were far away, so that they wouldn't be caught up in…whatever this is. 

Shifting stiff limbs underneath him, Zuko pushed himself up onto all fours before trying to stand. He got himself halfway up before promptly falling onto his face again.

"Ow," he rumbled deep in his throat. His palms flat on the ground, his claws sank between the loose stones as he tried again. 

Wait.

Claws? 

Zuko glanced down at his hands, which felt further from his head than they should be, only to see dark scaly dragon paws. 

“What the fuck?” he muttered, getting back up onto all fours. Which was when he realized why he’d fallen over. He wasn’t in the body that he was used to. Instead, he found himself with wings, a long tail and a neck that stretched further than any human neck should. 

He looked like Druk, his young Dragon, who he’d left with Appa while they were exploring the ruins. Although, not exactly like Druk, considering that the dragonette had vermilion scales and his were a darker hue, almost black. 

“What in Agni’s name is going on?” Zuko demanded, pulling himself out of the water and further onto the beach. His tail felt heavy and weird, a sensation he wasn’t used to. The wings pulling down on his back were the same, feeling similar to when he slept on his arm and woke up with pins and needles. He shook his body like a dog, then flapped his wings, trying to get used to it. 

How did this happen?

The last thing that he remembered clearly was the ruins with the orb and the mural. Aang touched something then the room filled with light.

“Spirits damn you, Aang,” he growled, things on his face—his whiskers probably—twitching as a snarl curled up his snout. “You just had to touch it. Right after telling me not to!” 

Zuko continued to curse out his friend as he climbed his way up the beach, stumbling once or twice over his new limbs. He flapped his wings a couple of times to see if he would lift off, but didn’t feel comfortable enough to actually try and achieve flight. He felt like a newborn, everything too unsteady to trust he wouldn’t fall onto his face again. 

Slipping into the trees, he started to get a feel for moving on all fours, his paws finding sure footing. After only a couple of slips and running into things. 

The sun was closer to the horizon by the time he climbed his way up a rocky hill, and came up short. There, on the other side of the valley was familiar ruins, the stepped pyramids glowing gently in the falling light. 

Zuko stared at it in shock, unsure as to how and why he was there. Sure, the Sun Warrior island is the only place left on earth where dragons lived but that didn’t answer why he was there. 

However…

They might know what is going on with him. 

Being a dragon is cool on principle, since he’d always loved dragons as a kid, reading theater scrolls with his mother, yet, practically, it felt very strange and clumsy. A part of him was giddy with excitement because dragons! but it was overshadowed by worries for the future and what this could mean. 

Was he stuck like this? 

Could he still be the Fire Lord if he was?

He didn’t have an heir yet and Azula wasn’t fit to rule, still too unstable. She’d gotten better, but it was still a long way to go until he trusted her with anything meaningful. 

Zuko sighed heavily, warm steam coming out of his nose to billow in front of him. 

Worrying about it then wouldn’t get him anywhere, he told himself, using his wings to jump up onto a rock blocking his way. All he could do was take things as they come and address it if it comes up. 

After that, he tried to travel without worrying too much. He didn’t know how successful he was. Instead, he paid more attention to the land around him. It looked the same as the last time he was there, speaking with Chimalli, the Chief of the Sun Warriors. 

That put him at ease, since that meant that whatever/whoever brought him here, and turned him into a Dragon, hadn’t traveled inland and disturbed the natives. 

When that thought crossed his mind, he paused. Suddenly he was very glad that he ended up here over any other island within the Fire Nation. The Sun Warriors were the lending experts on Dragons, so the likelihood that they could help him was far greater. 

With that in mind, Zuko continued to the temples with a new bounce in his step. 

About halfway there, Zuko had to cut through a grove of trees, slipping his new serpentine body through the narrow gaps. At the sounds of leaves shifting, he froze, warily eyeing the shaking undergrowth. If a large animal was about to attack him, he didn’t know how well he would fare. On one hand— dragon, but on the other, he was in a new body that he wasn’t used to yet.

Human voices reached his ears and they pricked, turning towards the sounds. There were three of them, teasing and laughing with each other. 

The next moment someone shot out in front of Zuko, their eyes widening and skidding to a halt when they saw him. It was a younger female sun warrior, her cheeks still slightly round with baby fat. She gaped at him, her jaw falling with shock. 

Zuko stared back at her, a little amused. He was used to people openly looking at him, and her expression was so baffled and awed that he couldn’t help but find it funny. 

Then two other shapes raced into their little bubble, running full tilt into the girl, knocking her and themselves onto the ground. 

“Ow! Atzi, what the hell!” one of the new boys demanded, trying to untangle himself from the human mess of limbs. He wasn’t that successful and tripped again onto his face. At least he got himself free of the tangle, rolling away from the other two. 

“Yeah, how are you and what have you done with my sister? The Atzi I know never just stops during a chase,” the other boy grumbled, sitting up and shaking leaves out of his long hair, his large earring jingling with the motion. 

The girl, Atzi(?) shushed them frantically, wacking each boy blindly on the arm, not taking her eyes off of Zuko. “Look!”

“Stop it! What’s crawled up your—” the first boy cut off, finally catching sight of Zuko, adopting the same shocked look as Atzi. The girl's brother looked too and Zuko found himself the complete focus of three young warriors. 

Nobody moved or spoke for a bit, the warriors in shock while Zuko didn’t really know how to act either. Finally, he dipped his head in greeting, not wanting to appear too threatening. 

“Oh my Agni,” the brother whispered. “You’re seeing this, right?”

“That there’s a dragon, one that’s not the Masters, standing in front of us? Yes, we’re seeing it too,” the first boy said. 

“Oh good. Then I'm not hallucinating. Or I am and you two are sharing my insanity.”

Atzi hit both of them once more then scrambled to her feet. Once she was upright, she bowed low to Zuko. “Great Dragon, it’s an honor to be in your presence, we’re so happy to meet you.” The boys paled and quickly copied her, showing the highest respect that they could. 

Zuko shifted uncomfortably. He was used to the respect given to him by his people, but it felt wrong to receive it from the Sun Warriors. They had never viewed him as someone to give immediate respect to. He’d had to earn it, even after he became Fire Lord. Especially then, despite already being judged by the Masters. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he tried to tell them, but none of them moved. Confused, he tried again but when they didn’t react, he realized that they couldn’t understand him.

Of course they can’t, dum-dum, you’re a dragon, he grumbled to himself. They probably only heard growls or nothing at all. 

Stepping forwards, he nosed at Atzi’s shoulder, gently pushing her upright. She jerked and stared at him in bewilderment, and he tried to convey his acknowledgement of her respect but it was unnecessary. 

She twitched before leveling him with a frown. “Yes it is. We didn’t even know that there were any other dragons left. This is huge. If you’re here, there might be others!”

Zuko looked at her sadly. He withdrew, regarding her evenly. As far as he was aware, Druk was the last dragon, born of the single egg that survived the dragon hunts. Her hopes were misplaced. 

She tilted her head back to keep eye contact with him, which was when he realized how small they were compared to him. He wasn’t used to physically looking down too far at people, since he was shorter than what was normal. These warriors were a good few feet shorter than where his head arched above them. 

Well, considering how large he knew dragons could grow, he shouldn’t be so surprised. 

The boys shared a look with each other, apparently picking up on his melancholy. 

“Respected Dragon,” Atzi’s brother started hesitantly. “Would you like to come with us and converse with the Chief? He’ll be able to take you to the Masters.”

Zuko turned his head to the boy, then nodded. 

They bowed back, turning to lead him out of the grove. He kept pace with them easily, his longer legs making up for any missteps that he had. Soon enough, they were climbing the stairs leading to the main temples. Once they were there, a commotion started at the top, other warriors running and shouting. 

They had been spotted, and no doubt word was spreading quickly. 

Zuko still wasn’t comfortable with the awe and reverence being directed at him but he bore it silently. When they reached the top and at a very familiar set of doors, he sat, wrapping his tail over his paws. 

Chimalli stepped forwards, bowing low to him. “Welcome, honored dragon, to the Sun Warriors. It’s with deep respect and joy that we greet you. We’d feared that all had been lost.”

Zuko stared at the man as he brought himself out of his bow. Chimalli looked almost identical to the last time that Zuko had seen the Chief, with his familiar headdress and facial tattoos but at the same time, he looked very wrong. It took a moment for Zuko to understand what was setting him off. 

There were less wrinkles on his face, the crows feet beside his eyes not as prominent. 

Or more simply, he looked younger. At least a decade younger. 

Zuko let out a confused grumble, tilting his head to the side. 

Chimalli apparently took this as a question that it wasn’t. He frowned. “The dragon hunts that were issued by the false Fire Lord are still in full effect. Any dragon that’s not hidden safely with us are in grave danger.”

He knew that, that’s not what was confusing him—

The hunts were still happening? Zuko blinked. 

That wasn’t possible. 

He outlawed them and declared Dragons a protected species. Sure there were still poachers but everyone knew that the one public dragon belonged to him and anyone who’d even try to harm Druk would be dealt with accordingly. 

He knows that Chimalli knew this. He told him himself. The only way he wouldn’t was if he’d lost his memory and thought it was before the war…ended…

Oh Merciful Agni, please no. 

Dreading the answer, Zuko bent forwards and shifted one of his whiskers to press against the Chief’s forehead, projecting his question as much as he could. 

Which false Fire Lord is on the throne?

Chimalli blinked, either at the question itself or the method of talking. 

“False Fire Lord Ozai. He ascended to the throne three years ago, at the passing of his father.”

Zuko felt very cold, dread pooling in his chest, chilling his inner fire. 

According to him, Zuko had been sent seven years into the past, the same year that Zuko had received his scar.

Chapter Text

Zuko paced back and forth, snarling louder than he had in a while. Smoke huffed from his nose periodically but he was too agitated to truly care. As long as he had enough control to keep himself from spitting sparks, smoke was less of an issue.

Seven fucking years in the past, right at the begining of his doomed quest. 

What does that mean for his younger self? Were there two versions of him now? Himself and the young, still loyal to Ozai, prince?

What about his friends? They were also caught in whatever that was in the Temple. He wasn't even the one to touch it! Aang was! 

Were they here too? Were they in different forms, or a dragon like him? Would he even be able to recognize them?

None of these questions he had answers too, only making him more agitated. 

“Honored Dragon,” a voice cut through his thoughts, making him halt in his pacing. He swung his head around to glare at the Chief, huffing a puff of smoke. 

Chimalli winced minutely, tensing a little at his anger. Still, he squared his shoulders and kept eye contact. “I’m unaware of what has made you angered, nor do I have a way to freely converse with you. Perhaps the Masters have the answers you seek?”

Zuko considered that. 

He had a point. Out of everyone who could tell him what the fuck was going on, the ancient dragons would know. 

Hopefully.

Zuko nodded then jerked his head in a ‘get on with it’ motion. 

Chimalli bowed back, and gestured to the warriors around them. All of them had retreated to a safe distance during his pacing. Guilt grew heavy in his chest and he composed himself. Standing tall and regal like he'd seen Druk do on more than one occasion, he dipped his head in apology.

The warriors all gasped and scrambled to bow back, a couple almost falling in their haste. Excited whispers broke out among them, the chatter easily reaching his improved hearing. 

Although, he noticed with glum acceptance, that his left ear didn't have the full range that his right had. His vision seemed more vivid in this form, but again, the scales around his left eye were tight and didn't give him the same range of vision. He had no doubt that they were obviously burned and discoloured against his dark scales.

Even displaced in time and body he couldn't escape the lesson that Ozia had tried to break him with. 

Chimalli rolled his eyes subtly at his warriors, keeping a mostly straight face. Zuko sympathized with the man, having to hold back his exasperation with his people almost daily. 

He trotted after the man, following his lead even though he knew the way almost by heart. 

No one tried to talk with him while they traveled, but that didn't mean they were quiet. Zuko listened to the whispers, attempting to glean further information from them. He was disappointed to find that most of it was just chatter about his appearance, and the stab of guilt at giving them false hope. 

He wasn't even a proper dragon, this form given to him without checking if he was even worthy of such a noble gift. 

He did find it interesting that he hadn't heard of himself, or more importantly—a Fire Prince being banished. 

If he was truly in the past, could he change it? So much had been lost. 

Could he keep his younger self from being burned?

Zuko kept his questions to himself, not that he would have been understood anyways, following the Sun Tribe to the mountains that Ran and Shaw called their homes. 

Stopping at the base of the towering stairs, Zuko waited as the warriors spread out in a circle around him. They were just about to start the ceremony to call the Masters when a shriek filled the air. 

Twin blurs of blue and red shot out of the caves, Ran and Shaw circling the tower once before coming to land. Zuko jumped back, alarmed to be abruptly bracketed by the two, both dragons as large and imposing as they'd been before. 

Despite Zuko now being taller than a human, he was still tiny in comparison, and he had to lock his limbs to keep himself from cowering. The warriors around them gasped in awe as they scattered to a safe distance. The only human that stayed was Chimalli and he had sunk to his knees in a full kowtow, his head touching the ground. 

"Welcome, Zuko, son of Ursa, True Fire Lord," Ran greeted, his gravely voice booming across the courtyard. Zuko was startled to be able to easily understand the other dragon, having become so used to their telepathic method of communication. 

"Welcome, Zuko, Brother and Guardian of Dragons," Shaw continued, lowering her great head so it was closer to him. "Agni warned us that you would come, displaced as you are." 

Feeling a little put off by the ceremonious greeting, Zuko bowed back. "Thank you, Master Ran, Master Shaw," he responded, falling back on his court experiences despite being very familiar with the two. They'd been very helpful when he needed answers about Druk. 

"Agni warned you I was coming?" 

"Your arrival was felt everywhere by those who can perceive it. We were aware of you the moment you appeared on our shores. Agni had long since said that events like this may occur," Shaw explained, glancing at her mate who continued.

"No one has used the Spirit Traveler like you did within our memories, but it has always been a possibility." 

"Spirit Traveler?" Zuko echoed, perking up. "You know what that thing was?! Do you know why I'm here? What happened to my younger self? Why am I a dragon?"

"Patience, young one," Shaw scolded. She waited a bit for his acquiescence before answering, "The human child that you were is unharmed, separated from yourself. Two of the same souls cannot exist at the same time without one changing its form. The powers that sent you back looked at your heart and chose the form closest to who you are." 

"Which was a dragon?" Zuko shook his head in disbelief. "But I'm not—I’m not worthy ," he protested. Despite four years of friendship with the Gaang, there was still so much he had to make up for. 

The Masters shared a look, one he couldn't decipher. "It is not for us to question such things," Ran said finally. "As for if we know what brought you here…" he shook his head, the blue scales shimmering in the sun. "No. The ones who made it lived and perished long before us." 

Zuko groaned, sitting on his hunches and covering his face with his paws. Of course they wouldn't know either. 

"However," Ran said, his tone gentle. Zuko recognized that tone, it was the same one Uncle would use to soften the blow of something he knew Zuko wouldn't like. 

"It would not have brought you here if no good could come of it. It is said that it was used to right great wrongs, only called upon when things were truly dier."

"Then why the fuck and I here? " Zuko snarled, falling back onto all fours as his temper flared. "Why not send me a hundred years back? Before Aang lost all his people, before the Southern Water Tribe benders were reduced to one, before the Earth Kingdoms became a warzone and before all of the dragons were wiped from the earth by my Spirits damned family?!"

One of Shaw's whiskers snapped out and flicked him on the nose. "Calm yourself, kit," she chided, as he reared back, affronted. 

He wasn't a kit .

"It's true that sending a party back before Sozin’s desecration would save the most lives, but some things are not possible. All of the Great Spirits would have been needed for such a feat. If even one of them were unable to contribute their power…" Ran trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging. 

Zuko didn't need him to complete it, closing his eyes. He knew full well what kind of situation the Master was alluding to. It had been years but he'd still catch Sokka watching the moon with a solumness the other man normally hid behind witty banter and warm smiles. 

"Like if Tui died," Zuko finished, heaving a heavy sigh. 

"Like if Tui WHAT?" Both Dragons gasped, their faces slacking in horror. A roar accompanied their shouting, echoing through the valley.

Zuko jumped, not expecting that reaction. At his feet, Chimalli twitched but didn't rise out of his kowtow. Idly, he had to wonder what their conversation looked like to humans. Just snarls and growls?

Glancing between the two older dragons, Zuko tilted his head in confusion before he wanted to hit himself. 

"Right. That hasn't happened yet," he muttered, then quickly explained the events of the 100 AG Northern Water Tribe Siege. 

"How did this commander even get such information?" Ran demanded, a growl rumbling in his massive throat. 

Zuko shifted uncomfortably, shrugging his wings in an attempt to recreate the human gesture. "Wan Shi Tong's Library, I think. I wasn't around for that so I don't know for certain." 

"That prideful, stupid owl," Shaw muttered hotly.

"We need to send him a message to keep such information out of the general public," Ran agreed.

Zuko had to bite back a hysterical giggle. They sounded just like disgruntled ministers that were fed up with a coworker. Zuko had used that tone himself more than once when complaining about his council.

Sighing, Zuko shook his whole body, flexing his claws against the stone. "What happened to my friends?" he asked, his voice coming out small and meek.

Ran and Shaw shared a glace. "The shockwave that alerted us to your presence was large. There is no telling if it only brought you or any others."

"Of course," Zuko muttered bitterly. "And there is no way to return me to my time?"

"None."

"So I'm just supposed to fix things. That's all I've been doing for the last four years."

"I know it seems unfair," Shaw began kindly, reaching down to nuzzle him. "You've fought so hard, for so long." Zuko startled at the affectionate action but didn't lean away from it. It made sense, in a way, they had always showered Druk with affection when he'd brought the dragonette to visit.

He just didn’t expect for it to be given to him as well. 

“If I’m in the past,” he started hesitantly once she’d pulled away. “Does that mean I’m supposed to change things?”

“You’re here to keep balance,” Ran said. 

“I got that, but what does that mean —” Zuko started, then cut himself off. “What year is it?”

“That is not something we keep track of. Human years are too short, igniting in moments and snuffing out just as quickly,” Ran answered.

“You’d have better luck asking the Chief,” Shaw agreed.

Of course that was the case. 

Zuko bent without further thought, nosing at the Chief and Chimalli started, his head snapping up. 

“Yes, Honoured Dragon? You have need of me?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even, but it still shook. Obviously the man was shaken by both of the creatures he’s devoted his life to being so close. 

Awkwardly, Zuko pressed his whisker to the Sun Warriors brow, projecting his question like he had before. He still wasn’t completely used to this particular method of communicating and didn’t know exactly how to.

Chimalli blinked, then his brow furrowed. “We do not follow the Fire Nations calendar, prefering to track the ages by the revolutions around the sun.”

Zuko snorted steam, well aware of that. He urged him to go on with a jerk of his muzzle. 

When Chimalli told him, Zuko did quick calculations in his head. “It’s 97 AG,” he said aloud. “And it’s…the end of winter, almost spring?” he guessed, glancing at the surrounding vegetation. Winter in the Fire Nation never got so cold that the plants would lose their leaves like they did closer to the poles, but things did cool and brought a lot of precipitation and storms. 

The Masters dipped their heads, agreeing with his estimate. 

“I didn’t speak out until early spring,” he recounted aloud, hope blooming in his chest. “If I’m quick, I could save my younger self from being burned!” he exclaimed, bouncing in his excitement. He whirled, opening his wing to do so when a large paw caught him across his back and gently pinned him to the ground. 

“Wha—hey!” Zuko yelled, affronted. He struggled, trying to wriggle out from whoever was pinning him. 

“He’s already burned,” Shaw said gently, moving so he could see her. He didn’t know which one was holding him there, but her words made him still. He stopped fighting, letting his head rest on the stone. He squeezed his eyes shut, not even bothering to get up as the restraining paw was removed. 

“You wouldn’t have been able to stop it even if he hadn’t been,” Ran commented, probably trying to comfort him. “There are some events that are set in stone, your bruning being one of them.”

Zuko opened his eyes, staring out at the valley that fell before him. The sun was beginning to set, tinting the far away ocean a fiery orange. 

“I was always meant to burn?” he whispered, something crawling into his chest and lodging there. It made his inner fire dim and sputter, chilling him. 

“There is no time out there that you wouldn’t burn for your people. Remember why you chose to fight in the first place,” Shaw prompted, her voice stern yet soft.  

Zuko stiffened again, leaping to his feet. Whirling to face them, he barked, “I never would! I cannot forget! I might have burned for them, but that didn’t keep Ozai sending the 41st to be slaughtered—” his words caught in his throat, a new thought worming its way into his mind.

“Kit?” Ran prompted when the silence stretched out.

“Could I save them?” he asked in a small voice. “They were children , the oldest no older than eighteen. They didn’t deserve to die like that.”

“That’s your choice,” Shaw told him, shifting so she was sitting a little more comfortably. “In your time, I'm assuming none survived.”

Zuko shook his head. 

“And no other outrage was issued by the people.”

“Not that I know of,” Zuko admitted numbly. 

“Then it is for you to decide. Their deaths mattered a great deal to you, but didn’t affect the balance too greatly. If it had, your task would have been simpler. However, there is something else to keep in mind,” Ran warned. “If you do, you will lose the element of surprise. The Dragon Hunts are still in effect, and the world will be aware of you.”

“So?” Zuko snarled. “My life is trivial against the hundreds that were lost—”

“It is not!” Shaw snarled, her voice rising into a thunderous boom. “Your worth is not measured by such things, and even if it was, it would not be equal !”

Zuko shrank back from her anger, her voice distorting with the force of her rage. Shamefully, he found himself trembling in the face of it. 

Ran chuffed at his mate, drawing her attention. The two stared at each other for a moment before she huffed, looking away. 

“You do not have to decide now, little one,” Ran said gently. “You must be tired and hungry from traveling so far. You need to eat and rest.”

He wasn’t really, but Zuko nodded, the motion small. He was still shaking, shocked by Shaw’s tone. 

The female dragon sighed, smoke billowing. Then she bent and licked his mane, her large tongue soaking him in seconds. He squealed in disgust, jumping away from her. 

She chuffed in amusement, her apology unmistakable. Then she turned to Chimalli, the man staying still at their feet. She touched her whisker to his brow, making him jerk. A moment passed before she withdrew. 

The man hesitantly lifted himself out of his kowtow, but stayed on his knees. Dipping his head in a nod, he promised, “It will be done.”

Shaw made a noise of approval, then turned to the sky. With one mighty leap, she was in the air, her wings beating strongly to keep lifting her. 

Zuko stayed on the ground, watching her fly. His own wings twitched on his own back, making him wonder. 

Could he fly like that?

Aang had always made it seem so effortless. 

But Aang was an airbender, plus the Avatar, of course he could fly gracefully over the air currents. 

“Come,” Ran said, nosing him. 

“W-what?” Zuko staggered against the action, snapping his head around to blink right at the large eye staring at him. 

Chuffing again in amusement, Ran opened his mouth and picked him up, gently holding him between his teeth. 

Zuko yelped but before he could object to the treatment, Ran also shot upwards, wind whistling past them. Zuko clung to the older dragon's maw, praying that he wouldn’t be bitten in two or dropped. He was unable to keep his eyes open, too much blurring past him to make sense. 

Suddenly he was no longer rising, his gut shooting up his throat as Ran rapidly descended. 

Zuko cried out and wiggled, desperate not to splat on the ground. He squeezed his eyes tighter, anticipating his rough landing. 

It never came.

Ran landed effortlessly, gently placing Zuko on warm stone. 

Shaw's chuckle rumbled around a cavernous space, echoing off the walls. "Never flown before?" she teased gently. 

Zuko cautiously peeked his eyes open, digging his claws into the stone. He was no earthbender but he found himself gouging marks as he clung. 

"Not like that," Zuko wheezed, his already scratchy voice sounding rougher. 

Still feeling unsteady but determined to regain his metaphorical footing, he took stock of his surroundings. It was a massive chamber, large enough for both dragons to curl up comfortably. It was lit by streams of lava bubbling down the walls into small pools. 

"Is this… under the island?" Zuko gasped. 

"Astute observation," Ran praised, making his way over to a pool. Brushing some loose stones away before laying down and stretching out like a pygmy puma. 

Shaw, in contrast, turned a couple of times around a dip in the floor, gingerly curling around it. She breathed a sigh of warm air, a hint of sadness weighing it down.

Concerned and more than a little intrigued, Zuko pushed himself up. He shook himself to get rid of any lingering panic. Feeling as steady on his feet that he was going to, Zuko ventured into the cavern. It took him longer than the far larger dragons, but soon enough he was scrambling up beside Shaw. 

She glanced at him, eyes narrowing in warning. He paused on the small outcropping, waiting for her permission. He wasn't exactly sure what she was protecting, but he knew better than to disobey.

Shaw chuffed in allowance, resting her head back on her tail.

Creeping closer, Zuko climbed another rock outcropping so he could see. He gasped when he spotted the nest, a couple of lumps tucked in what looked like soft dirt. 

"Is that…?" Zuko whispered in awe. Forgetting himself, he leapt from the rock tower, instinctively opening his wings to glide over to the nest. He landed ungracefully, but didn't care, scrambling to his paws again to edge closer.

"It is," Ran said solemnly. "They're the few that were entrusted to us, in the hopes that we'd be able to care for them."

Six dragon eggs lay nestled together, the shells different dappled hues. 

"This is amazing!" Zuko breathed, crouching in the soft bedding so he could see them better. "This means that we're not the last! I already knew that, because of Druk, but I didn't know that there were this many—"

Zuko cut himself off with a frown, his whiskers twitching. "Where's Druks egg?"

"Druk?"

Zuko nodded. "In my time, both of you entrusted me with the first hatchling in decades. He's been my charge for two years, and I was there when he hatched. But…his egg was gold. I believe that the Sun Warriors called it the Sunstone?"

Shaw grunted, the sound getting stuck in her throat, making a strangled squeak. Rans’ head appeared over his mate's flank, making Zuko jump.

"That egg hatches?" Shaw demanded.

Zuko blinked at them, eyes wide. "Yeessss…?" he drew out, trying to figure out why they were suddenly so interested. 

The Masters looked at each other, their whiskers twitching and lips pulled back in identical happy grins.

Zuko was missing something. He knew he was missing something but he didn't know how to get any clarification while they were obviously giddy about it. 

“What was…he?—he, like?” Ran asked, a hesitant note to his voice, which contrasted with the general excitement that the two were exuding. 

“Druk?” Zuko clarified. “Uuhh…normal? He’s still fairly young. I’ve only had him for two years. A bit proud, and really likes treats when I give him any. I had to stop him from eating the turtleducks more than once. Which I didn’t understand because I fed him more than enough, he just thought they looked really tasty.”

Shaw rumbled, her tail thumping lightly on the stone. “He’s doing well then,” she commented, sharing a pleased glance with her mate. Ran purred and nuzzled her.

“Well, he was. He’s still in his egg now, right?” Zuko pointed out then blurted without thinking, “I know that any hatchlings are important but why are you focusing on Druk?” 

Ran and Shaw stared at him, breaking off their affectionate action. A somber, denser air fell within the cavern.

Suddenly afraid that he’d majorly misstepped, Zuko shrank back. “Not that you have to answer! Forgive my curiosity,” he pleaded with a bowed head.

“Peace, Zuko. We’re not angry, merely wondering why you were not informed before,” Shaw coaxed him back closer to the nest with her tail. “Druk, as you call him, is the egg of our daughter,” she explained, her head dipped lower and her voice soft and melancholic. 

Sundely, Zuko understood. He was very familiar with that tone, having seen Uncle adopt it more than once. 

“What happened to her?” he asked quietly. 

“Sozin,” Ran snarled, suddenly sitting up and pouring a puff of smoke out of his nose. “Sozin happened. Our daughter was beautiful, so full of life, embodying Agni’s gift to the fullest. She didn’t fear anything, especially not a decree from a cowardly human that left the Avatar to die instead of challenging him himself.”

“She’d just had her first clutch when Sozin came for her,” Shaw continued when her mate didn’t. “She’d been so happy, with six healthy eggs, all of them brimming with the promise of new embers. That’s when Sozin attacked her, with the army that he’d brought. She defended herself well, taking down quite a number of humans. She still fell in the end, protecting her eggs.”

“All but one were smashed,” Ran snarled, getting up to pace. 

“Druk,” Zuko said softly. 

Shaw nodded, her eyes sad. “We’ve tried to hatch that egg for so long. We did everything we could, but dragons normally pick when it's time to hatch, and for more than half a century, our grandson has stayed within his egg. We gave it to the Sun Warriors in hopes that the child would bond with one of them, so that we could meet him.”

“And he chose you,” Ran continued warmly, looking down at Zuko with eyes soft and affectionate. “So hearing that you, the first True Fire Lord in quite some time, managed to coax him from his shell? We are so very grateful.”

“Oh.” Zuko ducked his head, not ready to see the gratitude and love on their faces. Feeling like an imposter, he scuffed a paw on the stone. They’d told him none of this before, just instructed him how to care for a baby dragon. Perhaps he’d just missed their excitement in his own elation. Which…he could see happening all too easily. 

A slightly comfortable silence grew between the three of them. Shaw checked on the eggs while Ran watched with love and care. Zuko stayed within the circle of Shaw’s coiled body, settling down to watch them. The older dragons had been right, now that he was able to relax, he realized how exhausted and hungry he was. 

He knew how to live with an empty stomach, so he lay down, resting his head on the warm stone. He was just drifting off into a light dose when drums started to pound. 

His attention snapping back into focus, Zuko leapt to his feet. His heart hammered with the beat, looking for the danger. 

“Calm,” Ran hushed him. “It’s alright Zuko. It’s just the Sun Warriors. They have what we asked for.”

“Oh.” Zuko ducked his head, knowing he would be blushing if he could. Embarrassed, he didn’t ask when Ran left, flying up one of the tennels that led to the top of the mountains and the outside worlds. 

The older dragon wasn’t gone long, coming back with something in his teeth. He trotted over to them and dropped his prize in front of Zuko. 

“The Sun Warriors were gracious enough to spare one of their domesticated foods. Eat.”

Zuko blinked down at the dead hippo cow, startled by the size. He knew by the horns and shape it was an adult, but it looked smaller than him. Which…was something he would need to get used to. Everything was smaller to him now, apparently. 

Shaking his head at the thought, he went over to it, a little hesitant. 

“Do I… just bite it?” he asked, feeling stupid. 

Shaw nodded, urging him one with a jerk of her head. 

Feeling more than a little weird, Zuko glanced back down at it. Intellectually, he knew where people got their meat, but at the same time it was odd looking at a dead animal and thinking ‘food’.

However, his stomach growled and he gave up on his inhibitions. He was now a carnivore and a large one. He knew from feeding Druk, dragons required a fair amount. Biting into the hippo cow’s flank, he resolved not to think too hard about it. 

Which was easier once he started eating, it became apparent just how hungry he was. 

Halfway through his meal, he clued in that the other two weren’t eating. Swallowing his mouthful, he looked up at them. 

“My apologies, did you want any?” he asked, ready to back away at any indication. 

“Oh no, you eat, sweetheart. We’re fine,” Ran said. 

Shaw nodded. “Besides. One hippo cow wouldn’t do much for us. We normally hunt whales. They actually fill us up.”

Ah. 

Glancing at how large they are, Zuko figured that made much more sense. The hippo cow looked small to him . He couldn’t imagine how tiny the world looked to the ancient dragons. 

Zuko continued his meal in silence. 

As he ate, he couldn’t help but go over everything that he’d learned during the last few hours. He was in the past, years before Aang emerged from the ice and brought an end to the hundred year long war. Toph was probably still with her controlling parents, hiding her vast strength behind a helpless facade. Sokka and Katara were still in the south, hating the very country he belonged to. 

And that was only the human versions of them that belonged to this time.

He had no idea where his friends were. 

Chewing on a bone, Zuko tried to plan out what to do. 

His initial thought about being in the past of getting his younger self help. He knew that the thirteen year old was still adverse to the idea of going against his father, and intent on finding the Avatar so he could go home. 

Which Zuko knew was a bad idea and would only lead to pain. 

So, stop that from happening. 

But. His younger self wasn’t the only one that he could save. 

The conundrum of the 41st battalion sat heavy in his chest as he finished eating. Getting up and stepping away from the carcass, he settled somewhere in the middle of Shaw’s coils. Sated and full, he got to work cleaning his teeth and scales the best that he could, trying to copy the palace komodo cats when he’d see them washing up.

The elder dragons were right, trying to save the 41st would only make himself a target, which would be the last thing he’d want if he was trying to correct his younger self behavior. To begin with, he’d be putting the kid at risk, making him a target if Ozai caught wind of a dragon following his disgraced heir. 

But, if he managed to save even a quarter of the 41st, his younger self might listen to him more. Despite calling his Uncle weak for abandoning his post and not fighting, it had cut him deep to even think of losing one of his men. Maybe that’s why he’d been so opposed to his Uncle's attempts to bond with him. 

Either way, in all honesty, Zuko’s mind was already made up. 

The 41st didn’t deserve the fate they were given. 

He would do everything he could to correct it. 

Finished with his washing, Zuko laid his head back on the stone, decision cemented. 

He couldn’t remember the exact date that the 41st were sentenced to death, but he knew it took a while to move a whole battalion, which consisted of roughly 10,000 soldiers. He had about a month to figure out his new body and make his way to Omashu, where General Bujing wanted to take an outpost that would make it easier to get to King Bumi’s city. Considering that it took them three more years to take it, plus since King Bumi surrendered without a fight, made the slaughter even more pointless. 

Zuko yawned widely as he thought and realized that he was barely able to keep his eyes open. His ears twitched as he heard Ran and Shaw settle around him, conversing in soft murmurs. He was too tired to try and eavesdrop, instead letting the sound wash over him. It reminded him of camping with the Gaang, falling asleep knowing that the people around him could be trusted. 

“Sleep, Little Fire Lord,” one of them whispered and he felt something brush down his mane. “All will be well. We can figure out the future in the morning.”

He slipped into dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

Zuko woke with the sun, despite being deep within a mountain. The Fire within his chest responded to it, reaching for the far away flame. His inner fire still felt a touch odd, and it was abruptly apparent to him that now having a completely different body, Zuko was going to have to get used to its sensitivity to fire all over again.

Zuko groaned, keeping his eyes closed for a little while longer. The spectacle of being a dragon was beginning to wane and Zuko abruptly missed his human body. 

He missed a lot of things about the future, but at that particular moment, being comfortable in his own skin was one of them.

Pushing that revelation to the side, Zuko got to his feet and stretched like a pygmy puma, back arched. Shaking the leftover sleep from his body, Zuko glanced around. 

Ran and Shaw were still asleep, curled up with one another. Blue and red scales intertwined as their snakelike bodies looped over the other.

Not wanting to disturb them, Zuko quietly made his way out of the nest area. Which, considering he was in the middle of their cuddle pile, was a bit difficult. He managed it, however, by finding the lowest part and jumping over their tails. Again, his landing wasn't the smoothest, but considering that neither dragon woke, it would do. 

Standing by himself, Zuko had the desperate urge to see the sun. However, he only knew of one way to get to open air.

Placing himself under the long tunnel that led to the surface, Zuko regarded it. It looked like the only way up was to fly, but he was sure that if he tried, he'd just crash into the walls.

Glancing back to the Masters, Zuko affirmed that they were still asleep.

Alright. He would get up there by himself. 

Placing his claws on the wall, he tested how tough they were. He was almost surprised to find his claws sink into the rock but remembered how they did the day before. 

Careful and as quietly as he could, Zuko began to climb.

A few minutes in, he was oddly disappointed. 

It was honestly not the hardest wall climbing that he had done. As a human, he hadn't had the easy way to make or grab a hand hold that would support his weight. He’d had to feel his way along, taking chances when he’d been rushed. He’d never tell Uncle, but he’d fallen or almost fallen because of a misstep more than once. 

Ten minutes later, Zuko was hauling his too long and snakelike body up and into the morning rays. Trotting to the central stairs, Zuko paused for a moment when he saw that the sun was just beginning to crest the horizon, the sky overhead still dark. He’d honestly thought that it would have been higher.

Which meant his internal time measurement was out of sorts. 

Zuko huffed and settled where he and Aang had been judged. Laying as comfortably as he could with his paws crossed in front of him, Zuko inhaled deeply. 

The only way to fix his issue was through time and meditation. He was unfamiliar with this inner fire, so it was time to get acquainted. 

This fire was stronger, he concluded after he'd centered himself. However, his scales were more resistant to heat than fire bending skin so the sun didn't physically feel as strong as he expected it to. 

Another thing he'd have to get used to.

Zuko pushed that thought away and sank deeper into his meditation, filling his lungs with oxygen. 

The wind blew around him, catching on his mane lightly, tossing it about. The cries of seabirds were carried on the wind and the village below begane to stir, the Sun Warriors greeting the dawn like he was. 

Most importantly, his scales and the stone around him warmed pleasantly by Agni’s gentle touch. 

"There you are," a voice commented and Zuko opened his eyes to look at its source. Blue scales and mane slipped out of the cave entrance, Ran coming out to join him on the walkway.

"Good morning," Zuko greeted passively, centered and calm from his meditation. 

"Good morrow to you as well. How did you even get up here? I thought you were uncomfortable flying," Ran commented, laying down so his side was facing the rising sun. 

"I am. I didn’t fly."

Ran cocked his head. "Then how did you manage this?"

"I climbed." 

Ran blinked. "You climbed. A sheer cliff."

"Yes," Zuko affirmed.

The older dragon stared long enough for Zuko to feel his gaze. He shifted, switching which side his tail was curled around, almost uncomfortable. 

What did he say?

“Alright then,” Ran said finally, shaking his head.  He released an amused huff. “You came up here to meditate?”

Much more at ease with that conversation thread, Zuko latched onto it. “Yeah. It was a habit that Uncle got me into and I learned to appreciate it.”

“Do you notice anything different now that you’re a dragon?” Ran asked, watching him. Zuko took note of that because it felt different then before, instead of a casual interest. 

He squinted at the older dragon but didn’t see a problem with answering truthfully. "It's different. My inner fire feels...larger. Stronger. It's a little hard to keep contained."

Ran hummed then nodded, his expression not changing, like he expected that kind of answer. 

“Why?” Zuko demanded after a moment of silence. 

“You’re not the first to be gifted this from, kit,” Ran informed him, shocking him. 

“What? How—who—”

Ran shook his head, and Zuko snapped his mouth shut. “I was not around for it but another firebender, in another time, was cursed. It wasn’t a gift, unlike with you, and the-human-turned-dragon reacted poorly. They couldn’t control their fire like they had in the past, their control slipping with the increase of chi. Nor did they understand what it meant.”

“Meant?”

Ran nodded, shifting to lay more comfortingly on the stone walkway. One of his hind legs was hanging off the edge and his tail flicked back and forth next to it. 

“Yes. What it means to be a true firebender. What we use to fuel our inner hearth,” Ran explained, regarding him. “Do you know it?”

“Fire is life,” Zuko said, his brow lowering and he frowned. “Did they not understand that?”

“No. Zuko, this has not been the first time that the true nature of fire was forgotten. The Fire Nations history is riddled with strife, beginning when humans choose to abandon the safe havens atop the Lion Turtles, followed by war and famines as they colonized the lands. Then there was a time in your more recent histories when your people were little more than warring tribes, each wanting to rule.”

Zuko listened carefully, astounded by the information he was being freely given. Most of that he’d never even heard about, yet he never even entertained the idea that it was false. He didn’t know how old Ran and Shaw were, but he knew from their immense size that they were at least quite a few centuries old. There was no documented limit on dragon ages, some sources outright implying that they didn’t have one. 

The warring tribes, however, were familiar, that period being mentioned during his history lessons. That had been a lawless, war-torn erase, only stopped when Agni gave a message to the Fire Sages, crowning one of them the first Fire Lord.

“Either way,” Ran continued, “there was another time that humans forgot what it meant to cherish fire. It’s so easy to forget that it brings life when too much is destroyed with the same flames. The cursed human lived during one of those periods of time, and they burned their fires with hate and anger.”

Zuko winced. Ducking his head, Zuko tucked his paws against his chest, the closest he could get to crossing them like he would as a human. 

Ran chuffed, the soft rumble drawing his attention. When he saw that Zuko was listening, he said gently. "Doing so is not shameful or makes you unworthy. It's refusing to see the truth and learn from it."

"It took me too long," Zuko protested quietly. "My younger self is still using anger."

"But not hate," Ran pointed out. "You never truly hated the people you were fighting, did you?"

Zuko grimaced. He'd like to say he didn't, but there were a select few that made it onto that list.

Another chuckle filled the air and both dragons turned to see Shaw coming out of the opposite tunnel. 

"Just because you strongly dislike one particular asshole doesn't mean you use hate as a source for bending," she said with good humor, making her way over so she could press her muzzle against her mates. 

"Shaw," Ran reproached, glancing meaningfully down at Zuko.

Zuko lifted his brow, unimpressed. "I lived with sailors for three years. Despite my Uncle's best efforts, I've heard and said far worse than that ." 

Shaw smiled smugly while Ran lifted his gaze to the sky. 

"The cursed human did, however, use hate in their bending," Ran continued like Shaw had never interrupted, ignoring both of them. 

Zuko bit back a snicker, exchanging a look with the ruby dragon. She winked, her smile satisfied. 

"Using anger and hate while human doesn't pose any true problems, aside from limited bending, however it's different for dragons."

"Because we're closer to Spirits then other creatures," Shaw picked up when Ran paused. "That means we also suffer the same limitations. An angry, hate filled spirit will become corrupted, and lash out without care."

"And so too will a dragon, if they cannot find peace," Ran completed. "The Cursed One ended up so twisted and hate filled that the only way to stop them was for the Avatar at the time to put them to rest. Permanently."

Horror bubbled in Zuko's throat. "They were killed?" 

"There was no other way to stop the pain," Ran explained sadly. "The Cursed One wasn't just hurting themselves, but everyone around them. It was a difficult choice, weighing the lives of many over one, but leaders have to make such decisions." 

Zuko looked down. He knew that all too well.

However, under the unease about such a fate, he was confused. "But—there are stories of—" he cut off, not knowing how to word his question. 

"There are stories of cruel dragons?" Ran finished for him, a knowing glint to his gaze.

Zuko nodded, winching. 

"You don't have to be hateful to be cruel," Shaw stated, her voice a rumble in her chest. 

Zuko whipped his head around to stare at her. She looked back, gaze solemn and understanding. She chuffed then leaned forwards to touch their muzzles. Zuko sat stone still, too startled to react any other way. 

“We feared for you, when you were burned,” she told him, drawing back. “Agni had told us about the bright little kit who he’d chosen to bear the weight of the crown. You were such a sweet child, and you honoured Him by standing up for his children. Despite the stones being tossed the way they were, none of us were happy with your so-called ‘lesson’.”

“It was cruel and it was wrong,” Zuko recited with numb lips. 

“It was,” Ran agreed, snaking his head around so Zuko could see both of them. “You were a kit.”

“He’s still a child,” Zuko added, thinking that somewhere out on the ocean, banished on an old rust-bucket of a ship, was a thirteen year old boy suffering through fever induced nightmares, barely able to speak.

A child who thought he was alone, sent on an impossible quest. 

Resolve hardening, Zuko got up and stretched. “What do I need to do to fix my bending?” he asked, tone on the edge of demanding. 

The elder dragons grinned, their fangs on full display.

The three of them had returned underground to practice, away from the central cave and the precious eggs. Apparently under the island was a catacomb of chambers, some without a use, and others, like the one that Zuko found himself in, used for learning. 

Firebending as a dragon, it turned out, was very similar to its human equivalent. Which made sense, considering that the first firebenders learned from Dragons. It was still fast and centered around attacks, using the tail in place of kicks, yet still sometimes used their forpaws to send fire blasts at where they needed it to go. The Breath of Fire was the same, thankfully.

Shaw was the one overseeing his training, resting off to the side as he went through the katas. Sometimes she would just observe, perform a few when he was having too much trouble.

Which was often, since, as a whole, Zuko was…bad at it. 

No surprise there , he thought bitterly. 

Half the time he was tripping over his tail, or mistaking distance and hitting something he wasn't supposed to. 

After one particular failing, where he ended up hitting his chin painfully on the stone, Zuko snarled, spewing fire.

“Arrg! Why is this so hard?!”

“You’re only able to use half of your mobility,” Shaw explained, otherwise not addressing his outburst. 

Zuko growled, almost yelling again but he bit it back and forced himself to think . Frustration made it incredibly difficult, but if there was one thing he was unarguably good at, was pushing through setback after setback.

Falling into a meditative mindset and forcing his heart to slow, it became stupidly obvious. 

“You’re flying,” he said aloud. “To perform most kata’s, a dragon needs to be in the air for.”

“Correct.”

“Why?” 

"Because airbenders and firebenders are tied more closely than people generally think they are," Shaw explained. "Both air and fire come from the breath, but are polar opposite in terms of defense and offense. Both are based on agility and the bender's ability to evade attacks, with one used for fight, while the other, flight."

Zuko huffed and got back onto his feet, ignoring the aches and pains of his body. 

"How do I fly?" 

Shaw grinned toothily. “Come here,” she ordered with a jerk of her head. 

Zuko followed her direction, standing in front of her. 

“Spread your wings as far as they can go, until you feel a small strain.”

Zuko nodded, concentrating on the weight on his back. He'd glided with them the night before but then he hadn't really been thinking, more intent on the eggs. Now all he had was time to think, and it wasn't as simple. From waking up in this form the day before, he’d lost the pins and needle sensation. If asked how to describe the feeling they now gave him, he doubted he’d be able to put it into words. 

It was like…actually, no. 

He had been given a new set of limbs, ones he now had to control when they’d never been there before and it felt like it. As a firebender, he’d been very in-tune with his body, aware of it and its limits. Just because he always pushed himself past them didn’t mean he didn’t know where the line was. 

Now, he had another set of arms attached where his shoulder blades were, odd, too long fingers flexing as he thought. 

Pushing his discomfort down, he focused solely on moving .

Slowly, he spread them, the arm and fingers moving easily as opposed to his unease . It was weird to feel the webbing between each finger, the thin membranes catching the air. 

Finally, once they were at full width, he looked up at Shaw. 

The elder dragon was laying in front of him, her paws crossed comfortingly as she watched him. When she caught his eye, she smiled, her whiskers twitching proudly. 

“Nicely done. Now, once you're comfortable with that, flap them once.”

Concentrating hard, he did, lowering his wings in one forceful jerk. He yelped at the way they caught the air and he ended up tumbling backwards, head over tail. 

Zuko growled and huffed, climbing right back to his feet. 

Now with a goal in mind, he practiced with a focus Aang would have called single minded. Zuko ignored the little voice and trained harder. 

Shaw showed him a couple more wing exercises, all of them made for strengthening the muscles and allowing them to be used for longer stretches of time. Apparently, a dragon at their full strength could soar for days at a time, if they wished to. Zuko wouldn’t be able to do that for months, maybe even years, she told him, and he almost took that as a challenge. 

However, there were greater things to worry about. 

Once she was confident that his wing could hold him, Shaw instructed him to climb to a ledge higher on the wall, where it had been a shore for a lava lake during a time when the volcano had been active. He did so, easily scaling up to it. At that height, he was at Shaw’s eye level, yet still a great deal higher than the ground.

“Now, jump and—Zuko!” Shaw cried out as he did just that, leaping from the high point, opening his wings as he did so. They immediately caught the warm air of the magma cavern. He almost closed them again at the odd sensation, but forced them to stay open.

He shakily glided across the length of the cavern, always keeping an eye on where he was heading. The ground came up to meet him far quicker than he thought it was and soon enough he was eating dirt again, despite his attempts to land. 

“Kit,” Shaw scolded, frowning down at him. 

“What?” he snapped. “I did as you told me!” 

She growled softly and flicked his nose. “You didn’t listen to me. If you had, you would have heard me asking you to pay attention to your chi.”

“My chi?” he echoed as he rubbed the sting out of his nose. “What does your chi have to do with flying?”

“That,” she huffed, “is for you to figure out.”

Zuko bit back a snarl, knowing he had already been pushing his luck for mouthing off before. Grumbling under his breath, he climbed to the ledge again, determined to get it right.

There, he breathed deeply, centering himself. Once his inner flame begane to pulse with him, he opened his eyes and lept. 

He did this over and over again, gliding through the cavern, over pools of magma and stalagmites, landing clumsily, and getting back up again. Each time, he felt his chi pulse with something but nothing too grand or the ‘thing’ that would make him realize what Shaw was trying to get him to understand.

Ran and Shaw had to drag him back to the nest once night fell. He protested, wanting to master this, but he was too exhausted to argue for long. He fell asleep against Ran’s side, pressed close to the older dragon's cobalt scales.

For a moment, he pretended that it was Uncle there with him.

The next morning, he climbed up to the surface so he could meditate in the morning sun, soaking up its warmth. 

Once firebending training began again, he did so differently, working on his control over the katas. He lay on the warm stone, his forepaws cupped before him, a small flame ignited there like a candle. He worked on keeping it consistent and not out of control. His results were mixed. Creating the flame was no problem, even easier then normal, it was keeping the fire small that was difficult. 

Which…was not a problem he normally had. 

It was amazing to actually experience why dragons were so dangerous if angered. They had far more raw power then humans, his inner flame feeling like a controlled inferno instead of a campfire.

It was still easier than figuring out what Shaw had hinted at. 

It wasn't like he didn't feel what she was referencing, he thought later when he leapt off the ledge again for…at least the twelfth time. While gliding and beating his wings in the cavern, he was getting back at the physical flying portion, but not whatever Shaw hinted at. He did feel his chi reacting to something but he couldn't tell what. 

The next two days passed in a similar manner. 

Zuko quickly grew frustrated with his lack of progress.

At one particular point, he snarled wordlessly and slashed angrily at empty air. He hadn't been trying to do anything in particular but ended up doing something anyway. 

Energy condensed around his claws, making the air wave, distorting his vision. 

"What…" muttered, stilling. 

He looked at his paw again, the claws looking no different. 

Yet he'd done something. 

Frowning, he sat down, regarding it. Then, focusing on his chi, he tried to replicate the feeling. 

Sparks danced around his hand, and he scowled. Not what he was looking for. Shaking them away, he tried again, this time making his moves more fluid. 

Feeling like he was on the edge of something, Zuko scrambled to his feet. He climbed the walls in record time, perching on the ledge. Despite his excitement, Zuko concentrated and pushed off. 

Opening his wings, he focused on that feeling again, adding his elation. This time, when he beat his wings for lift, he arched into the air with far more ease.

"You bend heat," he yelled. Spinning around midair, he grinned at Shaw, then ran straight into a wall. He hit the floor seconds after.

Groaning, he gripped his skull, muttering curses. Shaw laughed at his misfortune but also came over to check if he was okay. 

Once satisfied that he was, she answered, "Yes, although it's not always used. You can achieve lift without the aid of bending but it's what makes our attacks so swift."

"That explains so much," Zuko marveled, getting to his feet. He pranced a little in place, whiskers flicking as he grinned. It felt so good to finally figure it out. 

Shaw chuffed and nuzzled him for as long as he would allow it. Which wasn’t very long because he was eager to get back to training. Now that he knew what to look for, he stopped failing. Soon enough he was flying all over the cavern, able to stay off the ground for a fair chunk of time. 

“Well done,” Ran praised when Zuko showed him, making a warm feeling bloom in his chest.

"He's progressed remarkably," Shaw agreed, her whiskers twitching proudly.

Zuko ducked his head, scuffing a foot on the ground. Half of him glowed when they praised him, while the other half froze up, not knowing what to do with it. 

"That's good. Now it's time for something we cannot directly teach you," Ran admitted, looking slightly peeved. 

Zuko's ears swiveled forwards, angled so he could hear them better. 

Shaw chuckled softly at his obvious interest, which was another thing he was getting used to. His ears were never so expressive before. He was already easy to read but now with ears that practically announced what he was feeling, Zuko knew that he'd never be able to lie again. Not that he'd been good at it to begin with.

"Hunting. When you leave the safety of our island, you must be able to fend for yourself, which includes food."

Zuko huffed. He knew that all too well, they did not need to try and convince him. 

Ran arched a brow, unimpressed. "It's a useful skill."

"I'm aware of that. Sorry if I seemed disrespectful, but I've been on the road before without food. I know it's necessary."

Ran and Shaw exchanged a look. Now that he'd spent more time with the two, reading their body language, he picked out that they were sad about something. 

Maybe because he'd gone without food before? To them, he knew they viewed him as a child, and despite his dislike of being seen as such, he couldn't exactly blame them. If not for the war, they would be grandparents. 

"My apologies. Since you're the size you are, we do not hunt the same things," Ran said, getting back to his original point. "You will have to feed yourself with forest game, and we are too large to fit among the trees."

"You will not be on your own, however," Shaw reassured him. "The Sun Warriors have helped our young in the past. This is no different. One or two warriors will be with you, showing you what to look for and how to track your prey. Now, what you have that they don’t is smell. Pay attention to how an animal smells, are they sick? Or scared?”

“How will I be able to tell that?” Zuko followed them as the dragons made their way back to the central cavern.

“It's hard to describe. Sickness could be anything from a mild unpleasant odor or make a creature smell like it's already dead. Those are the ones to avoid at all costs.”

Zuko dipped his head in a nod, mulling that over. It would have been nice to get a more detailed idea of what to expect but smell had always been something that he’d had to experience for himself. 

Although…he didn't need them to explain what death smells like.

“You’re to meet with your teachers at the base of the ceremonial stairs. We’ve already told the Chief to expect you,” Ran informed him as the older dragons headed for a different tunnel, one he hadn’t venturned down. 

Zuko nodded again, but asked, “Where are you going?”

Shaw grinned, showing a mouthful of sharp teeth. “It’s been weeks since our last meal. We’re hunting too.”

At that, the two dragons dove down the tunnel, vanishing from sight. 

Zuko frowned, looking back up at the only exit that he knew of, then back down. The sound of water splashing made him jump, leaping back. He’d been ambushed by Katara one too many times for him not to react like that. 

When no attack came, he understood. 

The tunnel led out to the ocean, allowing them to hunt completely out of sight of humans. If Zuko had been able to hold his breath long enough to slip into Agna Qel’a without notice, there was no doubt in his mind that dragons could do it too. 

They’d had to completely change how they hunt , the thought floated to the forefront of his mind. 

A new feeling of shame curled in his chest. There had been stories of how the dragons would hunt freely within the trees or over the ocean without contest from other predators. 

Now they couldn’t. 

His grandfather had seen to that.

After this new revelation, Zuko really didn’t feel like learning something new, but it wasn’t like he could not show up to a hunting lesson with the Sun Warriors. Ran did say that they were expecting him.

Sighing a plume of smoke, Zuko turned and made his own way out of the caverns. Flying up the tunnels took far less time than climbing them, it turned out. He even managed to glide down the mountain without issues, landing as gently as he could. Which, to his pleasure, was a decent landing.

He certainly practiced that part enough.

Zuko noticed fairly quickly that a small group of Sun Warriors were waiting for him in the courtyard. 

“Honoured Dragon,” Chimalli greeted with a bow as he trotted up to them. “It’s nice to be in your presence again.”

Zuko bowed back, unsure of how low he should bring it. He settled for a small, yet respectful amount. Considering that they viewed dragons as near deities, he doubted that they would appreciate it if he showed Chimalli too much reverence. 

Besides, when he was Fire Lord, they'd been equal as two leaders. The chances that he needed to break the habit were slim. 

"Shaw informed us that we are to teach you to hunt. Warriors, Atzi, Necalli and Tecuani will accompany you," Chimalli said, gesturing to the group of Sun Warriors. As he listed them, three stepped forwards, each bowing with the flame. They had spears strapped on their backs but he noticed with interest that they lacked the facial tattoos that the others bore. 

The lone girl of the group did it perfectly, the exact amount without any embellishments. The two boys on the other hand dipped forwards lower than necessary with exaggerated flair. The girl looked annoyed, her eyes making small movements that he'd caught Mai doing more then once. She did that when she was trying not to roll them. 

Zuko regarded the warriors with a courtly straight face. Something about them stirred his memory, yet he couldn't identify why. 

The girl, Atzi, took charge before the boys could, smoothly cutting one off when he'd opened his mouth. 

"Honoured Dragon, it's wonderful to see you again. We'll be hunting wild pig-deer in the lower half of the island. Would you be opposed to setting out right away?" 

Zuko stared at her, mulling that over. 'See you again', he repeated in his head. Why would she…

Oh.

These were the three hunters that he'd run into on the first day. 

The other two were her brother and friend. Judging by the family resemblance, Necalli was her brother which made the other Tecuani.

They were still watching him.

Realizing he was taking too long to respond, he shook his head. Inclining his head, he gestured with a wing for her to lead.

Atzi bowed again, ignoring the pouting from the boys and started down into the valley. Zuko followed, matching her speed without issue. The sound of sandals on stone and fast walking followed them, telling Zuko that the boys were trailing after. 

Zuko was content to walk in silence, observing the island, but apparently Necalli and Tecuani weren't. 

"Sooo," one of the boys started, falling into step with Zuko on his right. "Do you have a name?"

"Tecuani!" Atzi snapped, whirling to glare at the other warrior.

"What? We're all wondering it! We've all known the Masters names since we could speak."

“So? Ran and Shaw are the Masters! They chose to live with us and freely told us their names. This one has no such obligations!”

“So?” Necalli perroted, the little smirk on his face giving Zuko the impression that he was purposely poking at his sister. “We don’t know if they don’t want to tell us until we ask.”

Atzi made a strangled noise of frustration in her throat and her fingers twitched around her staff like she wanted to squeeze something else.

Zuko didn’t hear the rest of their argument, his mind blanking on what to say. 

He had no idea how to respond. 

Now, there were two beings going by that name, but he didn’t know if he should be the one to bear it or not. The younger Zuko actually belonged to this time, unlike him, who was here by accident. 

But what other name could he go by? The Blue Spirit? That name would also eventually be taken and he didn’t want to offend the spirits by using ‘Spirit’. 

He settled for a wing shrug, unable to find something else. Besides, he didn’t know how to even tell them his name. Sure, he could use the mind-speak, but from what he’s gathered it only projects images and feelings, not words. 

“You don’t know?” Atzi asked, her eyes wide. 

Zuko had to stop himself from scowling. Still, one of his whiskers twitched and he saw that they caught that, their eyes going to it. 

She wasn’t exactly wrong, but that didn’t sit right either. 

“You don’t have one, do you?” Necalli asked, the mirth falling from his face. 

Zuko regarded the warrior with new appraisal. Necalli’s gaze was steady and insightive, lacking any hint of the previous teasing tone. 

With a jolt, he was abruptly reminded of his friends, the similar personalities mirrored back to him like distorted moonlight. The only one who was missing was Toph. 

His ears folded back and he stalked down the path, taking point. He tucked his wings in close and his tail lashed, the fluffy plume at the tip making a swishing sound. 

The warriors scrambled to follow him, Atzi whisper-shouting at her brother. The boys furiously argued back, but Zuko pinned his ears tighter so he wouldn’t hear them. 

Zuko did his best to ignore them, a hollow cavern growing within his chest. It wasn’t the first time he’d been ripped from his home. He should be used to this by now, being thrust into an impossible quest with no way back. 

He thought he’d been okay with that. 

He thought he could push through the pain and create a better future. One where Aang didn’t have to fight nearly as much for his very existence. One where Sokka didn’t have to become a battle hardened warrior at fifteen. One that didn't forced Katara to take on the role of caretaker before she should have. One in which he could take Toph away from her parents earlier, or somehow force them to see what kind of incredible person their daughter was.

He knew some of those hypothetical fixes were impossible, but he’d honestly believed that he was fine with trying without outside aid. He was used to being the lone wolf, this shouldn’t have been any different.

Apparently it was.  

He hadn't been ready to face such a stark reminder of his situation. 

He was alone.  

He had no idea if the others were thrown back in time with him or if he would find them later, spread out among the nations. However, following his luck, he highly doubted that he would. 

“Honoured Dragon, please wait!” a desperate, younger voice called out. 

Zuko halted, placing down his paws with more force than was necessary. He really didn’t want to. He wanted to keep storming down the path, but the manners that he’d had to adhere to in the palace prevented him from doing so. 

He waited, head high as the warriors caught up with him. 

They did, pale worried faces looking back at him, making him instantly regret his tantrum. 

“Honoured Dragon,” Tecuani repeated, with a bow, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. “I apologize profusely for any insult I might have given with my question. I did not intend to make you upset.”

“We too, apologize for any slight,” the siblings said at once, copying their friend. 

Guilt tightening in his core, Zuko realized he could see someone else in those trembling shoulders. Himself. He’d once begged forgiveness from someone of higher power, and it didn’t turn out well for him. 

Zuko chuffed, echoing the sound that Ran had made. The action came naturally to him, rolling out of his throat in an almost purr. The three warriors jerked and looked up, eyes wide.

Zuko purposely softened his gaze, not wanting them to think he was angry at them. He dipped his head, showing that he accepted their apology.

The boys blew twin sighs of relief, before quickly trying to act casual. Atzi’s shoulders sagged just enough for it to be visible. Her composure returned quickly, straightening out of her bow with a blank face. 

“Honoured D—” she started but cut off when he shook his head. “Umm…”

Trying to figure out how to put this in images, Zuko reached a whisker out and gently pressed it to her brow. Picturing the characters for ‘Honoured Dragon’ he crossed out ‘Honoured’, letting it fade away. Withdrawing his whisker, he hoped that she got the message. 

He was greeted with a troubled frown, her head tilted just enough so her high tail fell over her shoulder. “You objected to the title of ‘Honoured,” she clarified, her brows rising. 

He nodded. 

“But you’re—!” Tucuani started but was shushed by Necalli, his head shaking frantically. 

“May I ask why?” Atzi asked hesitantly. 

Zuko bit back an automatic scoff. Four years of the other scolding him for his self-deprecating thoughts had curbed his habit of speaking them outloud, but a small part of him was still that little boy groveling at his fathers feet. Thinking himself as honourable was something he was still learning to accept without immediate protests. 

He settled on a shrug, turning to look at the forest on the edge of the valley. 

“As you wish, Dragon,” Necalli said, stepping up beside his sister. “We will respect your wishes.”

Zuko nodded his thanks. Before they could start another conversation, he jerked his head towards the forest. 

“Oh! Yes! Let's get moving!” Tucuani agreed, going from standing to running in two seconds, rushing down towards the forest. 

“Tuni! Wait for us!” Necalli called, bolting after him. Atzi and Zuko shared a look before following. 

The lesson on hunting progressed smoothly from there, Atzi taking point on what to look for and what to avoid. Zuko did his best to learn quickly, attempting to recall anything that Sokka had told him about tracking and hunting. Which was a lot, but not all of it was applicable. Warm, Fire Nations forests were vastly different then the frozen southern tundra’s afterall. 

What he was good at, and he could tell that he startled his companions, was the stalking part. Despite being larger than the three of them combined, Zuko managed to fade into the underbrush, his dark scales blending in with the filtered light. He knew he wouldn't recognize all the animal tracks that they were trying to describe to him, but he knew disturbed foliage when he saw it. 

Tracking animals was vastly different then gathering information about the Avatar from prostitutes and other gossipers. However, startled prey made the same type of broken branches. 

Once he caught that, he sniffed the air deeply, like Shaw had suggested. A musky, thick odor stung his nose, but it also made his mouth water. Falling into the familiar mindset of silence, or as Sokka called it, ‘his sneaking mode’, he softened his steps, following the smell. 

The warriors immediately noticed his change in stride, but didn’t catch on to why. 

Necalli frowned. “What are you—”

Zuko cut him off with a soundless glare. Then he sniffed exaggeratedly, and pointedly looked at where the scent was leading him. 

“Oh. Right. Carry on,” the warrior said softly, flapping an embarrassed hand. 

Zuko did, not sparing them any other glance. Stalking softly, his ears twitched at the sound of moving leather and flesh on wood. They were getting out their spears. Good. if it was really a pig-deer that he was following, swords and even fire would do very little. 

As he snuck forwards, he heard them whispering. 

“How is he doing that?” Tucuani asked, wonder colouring his tone.

“I have no idea. He's bigger than the hippo cows! He shouldn’t be so hard to spot!” Necalli whispered back hotly.

“Shut up. Both of you.”

Blessed silence for a moment. 

“You don’t get it either, Atzi; don't even try and lie.”

Dear Spirits. It was like being back in PoHuai with Aang. 

Zuko swung his head back around and glared at them. 

The boys jolted, sheepish looks on their faces, while Atzi hid hers in her hands. 

He stared them down for a moment longer, making sure they got the idea. When they all stayed quiet, he huffed soundless steam. Returning to the mission at hand, he led the way through the underbrush. 

Finally, after about ten minutes of tracking, he caught sight of their prey.

It was definitely pig-deers. Not as large as hippo-cows but just as bulky, the sows were muscled with tusks protruding from their snouts. Their long legs meant that they could leap away at any moment if needed. So in short; large, yet argile runners. 

They only had one shot at this. 

The small herd hadn’t seen them yet, too intent on foraging on the large shrubs and fallen fruit. Five of them were adults by their size with a couple of this year's young playing around their feet. Knowing that the babies wouldn’t fill him, Zuko zeroed in on two that were grazing a little bit away.

Slinking back to the warriors, he brushed up against all of them, projecting his plan as best he could. 

Waiting until he got nods from each of them, he snuck off again. Moving around the group, but always downwind, Zuko circled to the other side, stalking close. Silently, he got as near as he dared, then pounced without warning. He landed heavily on the nearest sow’s back, sinking his teeth and claws into hard flesh. 

Panicked braying shattered the silence and overhead birds took to flight. The other pig-deers panicked and raced away from him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the second sow that he’d been targeting ran in the exact direction he’d hoped she would. 

He couldn’t pay attention to that, however, because the sow he was clinging to was doing its best to shake him off. Zuko dug all four claws into its hide but released his mouth. Quickly changing his target, he snaked his neck around and bit straight into the sow’s jugular. 

Warm blood flooded his mouth as the animal's struggle slowed then stopped. 

Zuko only let go when he was certain it shouldn’t get up again. 

Satisfied with his catch, Zuko looked up to see how the others were fairing. He was pleased to see that the sow that lay on the ground between the three warriors, each of their spears lodged it. One, directly in the pig-deer's chest, when it had obviously tried to gouge Atzi. 

“Fuck yeah! We did it!” Tucani yelled, throwing his hands up into the air.

The three warriors were also on the ground, giggling and laughing. From what Zuko could parce out between the giddy retelling, they were all fine, just tired and shocked that they’d managed to pull it off. 

Zuko chuffed his praise, drawing their attention. 

The three of them grinned, the boys slapping each other on the back. 

Zuko watched them with amusement, endeared by their celebration. His stomach growled loudly, reminding him abruptly that he hadn’t eaten in a couple of days. He glanced down at his catch, bowing his head and thanking it for its life. 

Sokka had started him on that particular tradition, explaining how the Water Tribe never wasted food. It was so harsh in the poles, they had no choice but to hunt for their survival, so they honoured the creatures that it came from. 

Since Zuko always had a soft spot for animals, but still liked meat, he quickly adapted it into his own prayers. 

Once done, he started eating, ripping meat off of the sow he’d killed. It was only after he’d eaten a fair amount that he realized that he was being watched. Swallowing a mouthful, he froze when he caught one of the warriors eyes. 

There was a strange look on their faces, all of them trading it between small glances. Their lips were quivering slightly, like they were pushing down a reaction. Like a grimace.

Zuko frowned, licking a drop of blood from his muzzle, wondering what they were so put off by. 

Then he froze. 

Abruptly, he realized what he must look like. 

An animal, devouring a fresh kill with blood all over him. Shame and embarrassment burned within his chest, despite his previous vow to embrace the life of a carnivore. He crouched down low, as if to hide, pulling his lips back from his teeth in a wordless snarl. 

“Whoa! It’s okay!” Necalli said, holding up his hand in a surrender pose. “We’re not going to take any from you.”

“He’s right,” Atzi jumped in, obviously trying to smooth things along like she’d been doing all afternoon. “We were just admiring having another dragon on the island. It’s a privilege to witness one of your hunts,” she added, her hands making the flame and she bows low over it. 

What. 

Zuko probably looked so stupid with how baffled he felt. 

They weren’t disgusted by him? They were privileged? What? That didn’t make any—

Oh.

Zuko wanted to hit himself. 

These were the Sun Warriors. They thought very highly of Dragons, that included accepting everything, bloody meals and all. Really, he shouldn’t have been surprised. The Chief and Han Go had been ready to let the Masters eat Aang and him when they’d come here. 

Besides, they had no idea that he was a human turned dragon, with the same manners and expectations of one. To them, he was born a dragon, eating meat like this every time he got hungry. 

Zuko chuffed at himself then went back to his meal. He did, however, make a more conscious effort to eat cleanly. 

It was a weird, yet not fully unfamiliar feeling, to be among people that accepted him without any strings attached. Half of him wanted to demand what they wanted, but he pushed that feeling down. There was no logical reason for them to want anything from him. 

He was just another dragon. One of the last few.

Chapter Text

Returning to the Masters courtyard, Zuko helped carry the sow the others had caught, draping it over his back. It was a little heavy, making flight an impossibility but he was actually surprised that he could carry so much weight. His new body was still young for a dragon, and the Ran and Shaw of his time had warned him again letting Druk carry anything until he was big enough for it. 

He’d been so excited for when the dragonette grew up, since riding on a dragon had been a dream of his since he was a kid.

The young Sun Warriors either didn’t know that particular tidbit of information or were too happy for something else to carry the heavy animal. Although, truth be told, he didn’t think it was particularly heavy. He could still move comfortably. His issue would only be if he had to react quickly. 

Thankfully the trip to the hidden village wasn’t that long. A half hour after he started to carry it, he shook his burden free. Another group of warriors carted it away so it could be prepared properly. 

“Well done,” Chimalli said to the warriors, regarding the caught sow with approval. “Was your hunt also successful, Honoured One?” he added, turning to Zuko. 

Zuko stayed very still, not wanting to show disrespect to the Chief. Forcing himself to answer, despite the distaste clogging his throat, he nodded. 

Tucuani coughed into his fist and the siblings winced. 

“Ah, Chief? We talked briefly about how we should address him, and the Dragon showed disinterest on being referred to as ‘Honoured’,” Necalli told his leader tactfully. 

Zuko’s brow creeped up. 

'Disinterest'.

That word would not be the one he’d use, but it was a close enough recount of his outburst. He would have said that Zuko fucking hated it and threw a tantrum. 

Chimalli looked between the young warriors and Zuko. “I see. Then do you have a preferred name we could use?” he asked.

Zuko looked at the warriors. The three exchanged glances. Atzi adjusted her grip on her spear, biting her lip. 

“Just ‘Dragon’, sir,” she reported. 

Chimalli blinked. He lifted a hand and rubbed his mouth, but Zuko caught the small frown that he’d tried to hide.

“I see,” he settled on after a moment.

Zuko bit back a growl. 

He knew it was strange, alright? He didn’t need their input to know he was weird. He was tired, full, and he could still feel blood on his muzzle, despite his efforts to wash it away. 

He was not in a mood to tolerate people talking about him while he stood there. 

Backing up, he dipped his head into a bow and turned away before he could receive a response. Opening his wings, he launched into the air. It was clumsy and not the smooth flight that he’d seen the Masters achieve, but at that point, he didn’t care. 

He just wanted away. 

The cavern was empty when he arrived, landing near the nest.

Zuko chuffed, ears pricked to hear any answering call. 

The vast space stayed silent.

Shoving his disappointment down, he looked down at the eggs, his chest suddenly squeezing with a desperate yearning to snuggle with Druk. The young dragon hadn’t left his side since Zuko had helped hatch him. They’d bonded instantly, the baby dragon refusing to leave. Not that Zuko had wanted him to, except when he needed to do Fire Lord things and Druk had wanted to play. 

On the other hand, walking into meetings with a dragon looped around his neck, sound asleep, were the ones when he’d gotten backtalk the least. 

Zuko probably would have kept spiraling but the feeling of dried blood between his scales got to the point that it was driving him insane. It had been bothering him for a while now, but he couldn't ignore it anymore.

The last time, he’d cleaned himself with his tongue, but there was a story about dragons he wanted to test out. 

In more than a couple of legends referenced lava baths, where dragons cleaned themselves in pools of the stuff. He should have asked Ran and Shaw, but they weren’t there. Cautiously, he stopped at the edge of the bubbling pool of melted rock. Heat rolled off of it, and experimentally, Zuko tried to see if he could affect it with his chi. 

It was hard, and he knew for a fact that if he’d still been human, he wouldn’t have been able to. It took all of his concentration, but Zuko took control of the heat radiating from the magma. Once he was sure he had it under control, he slipped into the pool. 

It was…strange. It was like swimming but if water was much more viscous. It was pleasantly warm, maybe even too cool. He eased off on his iron tight control just enough to make him feel like he was in a sauna. Confident that it wasn’t going to burn him horribly, Zuko dipped under the surface, letting the lava clean him. 

He spent even time in the lava to feel refreshed, although he was reluctant to leave. The slowly building heat finally drove him out, shaking off the clinging magma as he stepped out. 

Feeling adrift, yet too tethered, Zuko paced within the cave. 

Thoughts swirled around his head, ebbing in and out of focus like tides. He couldn’t stop thinking about Tucuani’s question. 

What was his name now?

He was no longer any of the names or titles that he’d been given. 

Not a Prince.

Not banished and disgraced.

Not a refugee.

Not part of the GAang, fighting in a war.

Not the Fire Lord.

The dragon snarled, baring his teeth to keep the whine of confusion locked inside his throat. Turning sharply on his paws, he fell back onto familiar habits. Stalking over to the training chamber, he launched into different attacks, spitting fire and slashing his claws equally. 

Abruptly, he missed his human body. 

He’d do anything to practice with his dao, using the familiar sword forms to ease the tension keeping him tangled in knots.

Curling his claws into his scally palm, they couldn’t feel further from reach.

So he fought with his talons instead. He poured every shard of his pain and stress into his fighting. Going between firebending and fighting cold, he continued training.

Back home, Suki would be standing on the edge, watching him disapprovingly, but wouldn’t interfere unless he collapsed. Katara would be waiting to heal any bruises while Sokka would join in, stopping him if he went too far. Toph would knock him on his ass, yelling at him about stupid shit, working him up on other thing, until, eventually, he would confess what was bothering him. Aang would be patient, a calm, comforting companion as he gently told him he was being an idiot. 

He missed them. 

Spirits, he missed them so much. 

It had been a week , and he was already breaking down. 

He’d spent longer times away from them before, yet, this was different, because this was permanent. There was no way of knowing if anyone else came back with him.

He would never see his friends again.

Zuko stopped. 

Just stopped, laying down on the scorched stone as a whine built in his chest. He’d lost control of his breathing, air coming in and out with wheezing gasps. A sob burst out, and he lacked the energy to keep it contained. 

“Oh, kit,” a voice whispered. 

Zuko closed his eyes. Of course they come back in time to see his shameful display. 

Yet, he couldn't bring himself to put himself back together. 

Two large presences entered the cavern, gently enveloping him with their massive forms. 

Neither of them said anything as they twisted around him, each laying their heads beside him. One of them, gently pressing their cheek against the length of Zuko’s battered body. When Zuko didn’t flinch away from them, the other did the same, engulfed him in something that could be a hug. 

Tears running down his face, Zuko lost track of time. He soaked up their unasked for support. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve this body, which he disgraced with longing for his old one. 

Everything felt so different.  

He was in the past, the war still in full force. His father, sitting upon the Dragon Throne again, after he’d spent so much time fighting for it. The month or two it took to actually take it, fighting his own sister until she broke mentally then for the years weeding out the Ozai supports. 

In one careless touch, he was thrust back to the beginning. 

He was spiraling, and he knew it. He couldn’t make himself stop. 

Then, whiskers gently touched him, a question forming in his mind. Ran and Shaw were both there, asking if they could help. 

Instinctively, he flinched and tried to hide. 

They withdrew, honouring his choice.

Which was why, after a long moment, he allowed them close. Now with permission, they entwined their whiskers with his own, feelings flowing freely between the three of them. 

Sorrow, his own, crashing down around them. Their acceptance, coolly soothing the ache despite the bitter aftertaste. Love, unconditional and freely given. Finally, peace, smoothing everything over like a mirror still lake. 

It was a little overwhelming, despite being warm and soft. He felt every way they regarded him. With love, because he was theirs now, and not just because he’d been transformed to take their shape. Because he cared so much for Druk, and had done so much to make the world a better place. 

They accepted him for who he was, every part. 

When he was too tired to cry anymore, Zuko sniffed, sitting up and disentangling himself from their whiskers. 

“I’m sorry,” he croaked. 

“No, sweetheart, we’re sorry,” Ran soothed, licking his mane as gently as he could. “We should have realized this was quite a shock to you. Of course you’d mourn the world you came from.”

“It feels silly. They’re still alive. I'm still alive.”

“Sometimes, that is a worse fate.”

Zuko paused, glancing up at the red dragon. Shaw looked back down at him, since lifting her head to be more comfortable. She looked older than she had before, haggard and worn down. 

Zuko’s ears half flattened. It was the same look Aang wore when he thought too much about the Air Nomads. 

Which…he couldn’t do anything about. 

However, he wasn’t powerless. He wouldn’t accept that. 

New resolve growing in his chest, Zuko nodded his acceptance. 

“We’ll do better,” he declared. Surging to his feet, he looked back to the main cavern. “There’s still hope for the future. Druk will hatch after bonding with my younger self. I don’t know about the other six, since I never saw them, but I’m sure we can coax them out too.” 

He wasn’t looking at Ran and Shaw so he couldn’t see their expressions, but he did hear their purrs of approval. 

He bounded up into the main cave, which he was starting to think of as the den of the catacombs. Heading straight for the eggs, Zuko nosed at them, careful not to turn them too far. He didn’t want to drown the baby inside. It was nice and warm, a steady pulse of chi emanating from within. Yet still slower and dormant, asleep until the time was right. 

“Yes,” Shaw agreed, coming over to breathe a warm fog over the eggs. “We will not give up hope. You’re proof that things will get better.”

Zuko blinked. He never thought of it that way, but she was right. 

Before he arrived here, they had no way of knowing when the war would end. Even if Sokka and Katara don’t wake up Aang in time, Zuko knows where to look. He found the Avatar before, he can do it again. 

“It will,” he promised. 

Ran and Shaw chuffed, bending to nuzzle him. 

He almost convinced  himself to return it. 

As they pulled away, Zuko was suddenly hit by how tired he was. A feeling bubbled up and he couldn’t stop himself from opening his mouth wide in a yawn. Ran and Shaw cooed at him, causing him to lash his tail in embarrassment. They chuckled then the three of them settled down, slowing down for the night. 

Curling up, Zuko tucked his tail under his jaw. He was slowly getting used to the strange ways Dragons slept, contorting their serpentine bodies in any way that was comfortable. 

“If I may ask,” Ran started, settling beside his mate. “What caused you to be so upset?”

Zuko stalled, his mind blanking. He groaned and hid his head under the plume of his tail. 

“It’s stupid,” he muttered.

“Not if it caused you so much pain,” Shaw rebuffed smoothly. “It might feel like that, certainly if it was the catalyst, but nothing about grief is stupid.”

Zuko chewed that over. He never thought of it that way. She had a point. Finally, long enough later that they might have drifted off, he heaved a heavy sigh. 

“The warriors asked what to call me.”

“Ah,” Ran rumbled.

Zuko frowned and brought his head up and out from under his tail. That wasn’t just a sound about getting an answer, it was one of understanding. Ran caught his gaze and nodded. 

“You didn’t know what to tell them.”

Zuko shook his head. “It doesn't belong to me anymore.”

“That is for you to decide,” Ran said gently. “Do you know what you want to be called?”

Not particularly. He’d gone by different names before, or never gave his own. He was positive about never picking any of them up. So many of those versions of him had made terrible decisions, more than a couple earned Sokka’s teasing nickname for him.

Lee might have helped him decide who he wanted to be, but he also made his worst mistake while bearing that name. 

He didn’t think he could ever use it again. 

“No,” he finally settled on. “Just not Zuko.”

“Do you want to give Zuko up entirely?” Shaw asked.

The young dragon hesitated. “It belongs to someone else now.”

Ran hummed. “I disagree. Two can bear the same name. It will get confusing, yes, but you don’t have to discard it entirely if you don’t wish to.”

He mulled that over.

While he was still thinking, Shaw added, “You do not have to give up who you were originally, little Fire Lord. You are still who you were before, just different.”

Zuko nodded thoughtfully. 

“No,” Zuko decided. “You may still call me by that name, but I don’t want anyone else to know what we lost. That world is gone. We must move forwards.”

They dipped their heads in identical nods. No one else spoke after that, all of them settling down. Zuko placed his jaw back onto his tail, going over their conversation. Ran and Shaw had made compelling arguments, but Zuko was frankly too tired and worn out to give them his full consideration. 

He’ll think about it more tomorrow. 

Zuko was used to rigorous amounts of training, living with the dragons didn’t change that. His days started a new routine. He’d stir with the rising sun, meditating while basking in its warmth before bringing up his skills to an adequate level. He’d never be the best bender around, but existing in this new world brought different perils. 

Zuko was still adamant on saving the 41st division and to do so, and survive, he needed to be able to hold his own.

Ran and Shaw pushed for this as well, and he couldn’t blame them for that. They had been the sole dragons for years, maybe even decades. He would never fault them for their worry. 

Even if it was a little much at times.

After a week of training on his own, they said that he was ready to fight against others. 

Zuko stared up at them for a moment, before blurting, “I can’t spar with you. You’d beat me in two seconds flat.”

Ran barked a laugh while Shaw snickered. “Not us, no. You need practice going against humans.”

Ah.

That made more sense.

They talked with Chimalli and organized a time for spars past noon, before the evening meal. The Sun Warriors were more than happy to help out. They clamored for a chance to spar with him. 

Zuko wasn’t used to that kind of attention and wanted to hide at first. 

However, overall, it went well.

Being a larger opponent had its challenges, and he had to learn quickly how to keep track of slippery fighters ducking out of his sight only to pop up in other places. Thankfully, he had some practice with that. When Toph and Aang were still much shorter than him, he’d had to keep track of them through sound, not sight. 

In the beginning, however, he didn’t know how to fight them. After getting his butt handed to him a few times, he decided to try something new. 

Piandao and started him on it when he’d trained with him as a child, and meeting Toph had convinced him to pick it up again. 

Fighting blind, and trying to see if he could sense the chi around him. As always, he failed at first, but after a couple of tries, he’d been able to fight Toph fully blindfolded, following her movements through chi and sound alone. 

So, while sparring with the Sun Warriors, he implemented that skill. At first, he was paired against a single opponent, but as time went on and he lost less, the numbers grew. Soon enough, he was against five or more warriors at a time. 

Then they switched up the terrain. No longer were they in an open courtyard, but racing through different areas. The forests, the temples, even a couple of caves that he fit in. 

As the days passed, he noticed that they’d started to call him something new. 

Itzal, or; The Shadow. 

Baffled, he approached Chimalli about it. 

“Ah, yes,” the Sun Warrior hummed, rubbing his chin. “It was a joke, to begin with. You are hard to perceive, my friend, when you don’t wish to be seen. I’m afraid that most of my warriors have picked it up after sparring with you.”

Zuko shifted back on his heels, looking down at the man. He wasn’t that sneaky, was he?

“I can ask them to stop, if you wish them to,” Chimalli added when he didn’t react. 

Zuko shook his head, not fully there. The Shadow, huh? It wasn’t such a bad name. 

Later that night, when the Dragons were settling in, he broached the topic with his elders. 

Ran and Shaw shared a look. “Do you like the name?” Ran asked.

“I don’t mind it,” Zuko allowed, laying down within the nest.  

“Do you want us to call you that?” Shaw inquired. 

“Only if you wish to.”

“Little one,” Ran said, exasperated. “Yes or no.”

He mulled that over. “You can call me Itzal,” he finally settled on. 

Shaw grinned, sharing a look with her mate. Both got up, crouching in front of him, their wings half open. 

Sensing the change in their demeanor, Zuko stood. He was confused, but he recognized ceremonial stances when he saw them. Lifting his head, he regarded them evenly, waiting.

Shaw was the one to begin, her speech pattern shifting to something more formal. 

“Let the Spirits bear witness,” she started, sending a shiver down Zuko’s spine, “we’re here to give a new name to this young dragon. He has gone through much, brought to use from the ashes of his old life.”

“Under Agni’s sky,” Ran picked up when Shaw fell silent, “let it be known, for as long as this young dragon wishes it to be, he is Itzal Fènghuáng.”

Shadow Phoenix, the now newly named Itzal realized. 

Itzal bowed. “I, formally Zuko, son of Ursa, accept. From now on, I am Itzal Fènghuáng.”

Ran and Shaw purred, bending down to nuzzle him. A rumble in his chest joined thiers, and he pressed back, just a little. 

When he slept that night, it was filled with warmth and sense of acceptance that he was beginning to be accustomed to. 

The next day, when Itzal went to spar with the humans, Ran and Shaw came as well, proudly sharing Itzal’s new name. The humans greeted this with a cheer, immediately accepting him. A couple of them smirked at each other, preening under the attention, proud. Itzal assumed they were the ones that started calling him The Shadow.

“So you really didn’t have a name,” Necalli commented during one of their breaks. Atzi hissed a warning and whacked her brother on the arm. He rubbed it, scowling at his sister. The three warriors that had stuck by him were sitting in the shade of an old tree, sharing carambolo (also nicknamed star fruit because of its shape) fruit slices between them. 

Accepting a slice held up to him, Itzal hummed, not offended. He’d reacted poorly the last time Necalli had broached that topic but this time he tipped his head in a ‘so-so’ motion. 

“You had a name but it didn’t fit anymore?” Tucuani asked, a basket of dragon fruit beside him. With a knife, he was carefully cutting up the soft insides into large cubes before tossing them to Itzal. Tucuani was grinning while he did so, fully aware of the irony. The dragon snapped them out of the air, more amused by the pun then annoyed. 

Swallowing the slightly bland fruit, Itzal nodded. Apparently, it was okay for him to eat some fruits, and not just meat. Any fruits with vitamin C were good for firebenders, so it was nice to still be able to eat them. 

“No wonder you were so pissy,” Atzi realized, apparently her tack going out the window. 

The boys looked at her in shock, eyes wide, but Itzal chuffed a laugh. He’d learned quickly that while Atzi cared for decorum and proper respect, she was also super blunt and crass when she was comfortable. It normally came out in the middle of a spar, her foul tongue showing itself when he’d startled her or otherwise came out on top.

It was an odd dichotomy, but one he understood. 

Itzal turned to look at Necalli, then at the slices of carambolo he’d already cut. The human snorted and held one up for him. Itzal cheerfully took it, chewing on the sour fruit. He wasn’t put off by the tang, enjoying the soft quencyness of it.

Once they’re break was over, Itzal was going to go train again but Ran called him over. Ears pricking curiously, the younger dragon trotted over. The elders were curled around the stone stairs, observing them. 

“Yes?” Itzal asked, stopping Ran. 

“We have another lesson for you after the sun falls. Rest until then.”

Itzal blinked. “What’s the lesson?” 

Shaw chuckled, bending down to poke him with her nose. “Patience, little one. You’ll see once Agni sleeps. Perhaps you yourself need a nap,” she added with another poke.

Itzal ducked away from her. “I’m fine,” he snapped. “I don’t need a nap.”

“If you’re sure,” she teased, laying her own head down and closing her eyes. 

Itzal scowled before glancing at Ran. The azure dragon just grinned toothily and copied his mate. 

Very helpful. 

Glancing at the sun, Itzal figured he had a couple of hours until nightfall. Unsure of what to do with himself, he wandered the island. He walked through the forests, enjoying the sound of leaves rustling and birds singing. He naturally moved silently so he got to see a couple of the native animals before he got too near and scared them off. Closer to nightfall, he returned to the courtyard and meditated in the fading light. 

Ran and Shaw pulled him out of his thoughts once Agni was fully put to sleep, the stars decorating the night sky instead. 

Itzal yawned but got to his feet, joining his elders in the middle. 

“Hidden in the void of Tui’s and Agni’s light, you are to learn how to fly with the wind,” Shaw began, her wings opening like she was going to take off. 

“It’s very different from bending heat to keep you afloat,” Ran continued. “Your goal is to fly unaided for several hours. If you cannot do this, there is no way you can make it to the mainland. Your journey will end before it begins. Are you ready?”

Itzal hesitated for a second, then nodded. He would do this. 

“Very well. You will launch yourself into the air from here, using heat to help you rise. Once high above, find an air current and ride it. If you get tired at any point, come back to land,” Shaw instructed. 

Itzal nodded, opening his wings. Gathering his chi, he lept into the air, beating his wings as hard as he could. He launched upwards, gaining altitude with each stroke. It was difficult, his muscles burning as they carried his weight higher. Finally, he reached a point well above the mountain peaks. 

Opening his wings fully, he caught the air and gilded. 

The winds whistled past him, tugging on his mane. 

For a moment, he heard a lighthearted giggle, before it vanished in a passing gust. He tried to look back for it, the sound being painfully familiar, but nothing was there. 

Distracted, he lost some height and he had to quickly correct himself. Biting back the hollow pain in his chest, Itzal pushed forwards, looking for the air current that Ran and Shaw mentioned. 

It turns out, it found him, and he didn’t even look that hard. The trick was not getting tossed around by it. 

Which of course meant that he absolutely did. 

The far stronger gust of air caught his wings and he had seconds to cheer mentaly before he was thrown widely off course. Yelping, he struggled to stabilize himself, turning into the wind instead of flying sideways. In the end he was forced to land, panting, on one of the mountain peaks. 

Growling, Itzal huffed a puff of flame.

A flurry of sound drowned out his thoughts and the next thing he knew Ran and Shaw were in the air. Itzal watched them, memorized as they danced above him. 

A spark of jealousy grew in his chest as Itzal observed the skilled way his elders flew, never faltering in their course. 

He was a firebender not an airbender! Trying to ride anything in the wind was much harder than learning to bring a flame to life. It wouldn’t listen to him like fire did, instead continuing to push him around like the ocean did a boat. 

Wait.

A boat on the ocean. 

He groaned, chidding himself. He should have thought of that to begin with. He spent three years of his life upon the ocean currents, he knew them very well. It hadn’t been his job, but thirteen year old Zuko had wanted to do everything himself, and he’d done his best to learn as much about seafaring as he could while stuck on that rust bucket of a ship. 

If he thought of himself like a boat upon the waves, he might have an easier time. 

Itzal was half right. It was easier to think of the air currents that way, but it still took him a couple of times before he was consistently flying steadily. 

Chuffs of joy echoed around him when Itzal managed to join Ran and Shaw in the air. He glanced at them, startled to see that their manes were bristling with pride, wide grins on their faces. 

Itzal yipped his own excitement, flying between the two giants. Knowing that he had greater maneuverability, he quickly made a game of weaving around them, narrowly avoiding hitting either their claws or wings.

Ran laughed at his playful display. Shaw chuffed in fond exasperation. Itzal grinned, leveling off to soar between them. Soon enough, he didn’t have to concentrate fully on it, only making gentle corrections as he flew around the island. 

A roar broke through his thoughts, making him stumble mid-air. He glanced around and realized that he’d flow a fair distance away from the Sun Warriors islands. Turning around, he flew back, sensing the rising sun behind him.

Just when the sun was going to peak over the horizon, he made it back to land. Touching down gently, Itzal pranced until he came to Ran and Shaw’s feet. 

“I did it!” he told them excitedly. 

“You did!” Ran agreed with equal enthusiasm. “We’re so proud of you!”

Itzal foze, his eyes widening. 

They were proud of him? He’d been getting that impression, but very rarely did people actually say that. Uncle Iroh did, but that was different. For it to come from people that had no reason to…

It meant a lot.

“Thank you,” he choked out. 

Ran and Shaw were courteous enough to ignore his lack of control. 

“Come now,” Shaw said, “you haven’t slept in quite a while. We all need to rest.”

Itzal disagreed, having practically trained himself to function with the minimal amount of sleep needed, but followed without complaint. He didn’t think he’d be able to with the sun rising, but he found himself nodding off either way, a pleased purr rumbling in his chest. 

`Itzal sat on the Masters Stairs, watching as the sun set. A full day had passed since Ran and Shaw had properly taught him to fly. 

It was time to go. He’d spent enough time dragging his feet. He was running out of time. If he was to save the 41st division, he had to leave that night. He couldn’t remember the exact date, but he’d rather be too soon over too late. The cost was too high if he was late. 

“Are you positive this is the path you want to take?” Ran asked, landing on the stairs beside him. Glancing at the azure dragon, Itzal saw another time when the Master was perched there, his face twisted in a snarl, juxtaposed to the worry he wore now. 

“Yes.”

“It will be harder than before. Everyone in the Fire Nation out for your head,” Shaw commented from the other side. 

Itzal snorted. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

The Masters looked at each other over his head, their age showing in the lines on their faces. They bore a heaviness that he’d seen on the faces of the earth kingdom adults’ and elderly, stuck in crumbling villages while their children were off at war. 

Uncle had borne it too, staring out at sea when he thought Itzal hadn’t been watching. 

“I’ll be back,” he promised. “This won’t be the last time you see me.”

The Masters were silent, looking down at him. It dragged on for long enough that Itzal had read them wrong. He was just about to apologize for assuming when Ran reached forwards to nuzzle him. 

“We’re holding you to that, little one.”

Itzal did his best to lean back into the affectionate gesture, but it still felt stiff and awkward. He thought he did better when Shaw took her turn, but he still couldn’t be sure. 

Itzal drew back first, an uncomfortable feeling crawling over his scales despite liking the touch. 

“I’ll be back,” he promised again. “Hopefully with Zuko and Aang so we can properly teach them Fire.”

They nodded, faces solemn. 

Turning towards the east, Itzal leapt into the air, wings beating heavily. Soon enough he was high into the night sky, his dark colouring allowing him to blend in well with the night. Once at an appropriate altitude, he stopped flapping, gliding easily along the air currents. 

His goal was Wulong Forest, at the very edge of the Earth Kingdom continent. He was still young, and knew his limits. He wouldn’t make it to the 41st battlefield in one night. He didn’t have the speed or endurance for that. He would make multiple stops around the Mo Ce Sea before arriving at his destination. 

Itzal just hoped that he would get there in time.

Chapter Text

Arriving at the Wulong Forest, Itzal was sorer than he would like to admit. His wings ached and the muscles over his chest burned. Flying was not as easy as many birds made it look. His landing hadn’t been the cleanest and all he wanted to do was a collapse for a nap, but the sun was starting to rise. Itzal knew that he had to find shelter soon, someplace dark and void of people so he could recuperate before having to move on again. 

Wulong Forest might have been too far , he realized idly, sluggish making his way into the dense underbrush. However, it was the closest landmass that wasn’t heavily patrolled by the Fire Nation. He could have gone to the Western Air Temple, which was closer and spent the day there, but there was a chance that Zuko was there, searching for the Avatar. 

If his younger self saw him now, Itzal knew that he wouldn’t be able to save the 41st division. 

Not because thought that Zuko would be able to kill him—more of wouldn’t over couldn’t—but he knew that Zuko would chase him. Maybe not to take his head, but to ask questions. Dragons were basically spirit tales now, so the closest thing that Zuko would get to the Avatar. 

Itzal wasn’t risking bringing a freshly scarred kid to a slaughter. 

Especially not this slaughter. 

No. 

He’ll seek out his wayward younger self after ensuring the lives of the 41st. How he was going to accomplish either of those things, Itzal was still working out. 

Planning wasn’t his strong suit, even if he’d gotten better at it. That was Sokka’s job, which he was good at. He just needed a kick in the ass every once in a while to get the water tribe warrior moving. Toph wasn’t too bad at it either, she just preferred barreling right into fights because they were fun.

Spirits, he missed them. 

The throbbing ache outside of his heart overtaking his whole body reminded Itzal that he couldn’t figure any of that stuff out before resting. Thankfully, he figured he was deep enough into the forest that no one would go looking for him. Finding a tree with low overhanging branches, Itzal curled up under it. Closing his eyes, he fell into exhausted sleep. 

The sun was high in the sky when he awoke, and Itzal thanked Agni for his mercy, allowing him to sleep longer. Groaning, he got up, stretching stiff limbs. His wings were barely able to flap; they were so sore. The rumble and the gnawing pain from his stomach reminded him it had been a couple of days since he hunted. Itzal didn’t want to move, but he forced himself to get up, sniffing the air. 

Sometime later, he was ripping mouthfuls off an elephant mandrill, hoping that it would last him a week. As he ate, the flap of wings made his ears twist toward the sound. Glancing over, he found himself staring into the black eyes of a murder of crows. About twenty of them were perched on the surrounding trees. 

Itzal stared back at them, swallowing his mouthful and licking his chops.

“What?” he demanded.

The rustle of feathers was his only response. 

Figures.

Two crows hopped down from the tree, getting closer to him and the carcass. One landed closer, within swiping distance, while the other hung back; watching them. The one closer cocked its head to the side, croaking a question. 

Itzal couldn’t understand it, but he got the gist. 

Heaving a heavy sigh, he didn’t even think before sliding to the side, allowing the birds access. It's not like he needed the whole animal anyway. 

Clearly seeing the invitation that it was, a few birds came down at a time, stole a mouthful, then flew off only to be replaced by another. 

Itzal ignored the carrion feeders, allowing them to feast from his kill as long as they didn’t take too much. Surprisingly, they didn’t, respectfully only taking small bits as he ate. The murder didn’t stop watching him, however, and it got a little unnerving. 

Finally, he got up, licking his lips. He left the carcass there, allowing the crows to descend freely on the kill.

Itzal didn’t think anything else of it, leaving the birds to their meal. Walking away, he rolled his wings forwards a little and flapped gently. The muscles of the arm and his chest burned, protesting the overuse. In the past, he might have winced at the level of pain, but now it was well within his tolerance. 

However, he knew better than to push tired muscles further than they could go.

He huffed a sigh, resigning himself to walking for a time. Thankfully, the sun would set in a few hours, and he wouldn’t have to worry about being seen. 

The sun didn’t halt his progress, however, Itzal chose to continue westward. He could see the Stone Fingers through the tree, knowing that he would have to avoid it. Before Aang had his final battle with Ozai among the towering stones, Itzal had very little idea what the strange, naturally forming rock towers were for. After the war, it became famous and people journeyed to see it. Now, in the past? He didn’t know what he would encounter. 

Regardless, it would be safer to skirt the edge, under the forest canopy. 

Night was beginning to fall when the crows found him again, cawing as they passed overhead. 

“What do you want now?” he muttered at them, flicking an ear as one flew too close. 

As before, he didn’t get an answer. They circled him for a while, swooping low, one or two even landing on his back, before flying off sometime later.

Itzal rolled his eyes, amused despite himself at the strange birds. He enjoyed their company, he would admit. It felt good to travel with another group, even if it was just for a short time.

Pushing that thought down, Itzal continued on, thinking nothing of it. 

Until one came back, something shiny in its beak. 

Itzal halted, tilting his head inquisitively. The crow hovered in front of him, showing off his prize, before being forced to land. Now on the ground in front of him, it dropped the shiny bauble at his feet. It hopped back a step as he bent down to look at it, curious despite himself. 

“It’s a bead,” Itzal told the bird. A large, expensive one too, like it was a centrepiece to a necklace. It looked to be Earth in origin, the jade etched and polished with a flower motif.

The crow looked back at him.

“Thank you, but I don’t need it,” he said awkwardly. Was it trying to pay him for the food?

He started to step over it, but the bird screeched loudly. Startled by the loud noise, Itzal jumped back with his ears pressed to his skull. 

“ What? What do you want?” he snarled, frustrated. 

The bird cawed again and pecked at the bead. 

“Fine.” Growling, but knowing better to argue with a smart animal—Momo was proof of that—Itzal bent down again and gave it a closer look. 

“Where did this even come from?” he wondered, sniffing it. It carried a faint scent he’d learned to know as human. His eyes narrowed when he’d also caught the scent of fear and something only the Sun Warrior's children had carried. He didn’t know how to put it into words, but there was definitely a difference. 

“Show me where you got this,” he demanded, eyes snapping up to the crow. 

It cawed and took to the air. The pain from his aching muscles pushed to the side, Zuko followed at a run. If he tried to fly after it, he knew he would overtake the small bird quickly. Following on foot would work for now. 

As he ran, he was joined by the more of the murder, the decent sized flock leading the way. Over the sound of rushing air and flapping wings, Itzal picked up voices. Humans, adults by the deeper pitch, laughing and joking. It was cruel and malicious, setting his teeth on edge.

Barely audible under the jeering, he could hear children crying. 

Spurred forwards, Itzal increased his pace. 

He burst out of the forest, roaring. The camp that he found himself in scrambled to life, men yelling and reaching for weapons. With a quick glance, Itzal took in the whole came, and it told him everything he needed to know. 

Five men were around a campfire, a pot of something cooking over the flames. They had set up tents for the night, clearly settled and weren’t planning on moving on until the sun rose again. At the edge of the encampment, however, were more than a couple small figures huddling for warmth. They jerked at his entrance and Itzal heard the clinking of metal, the manacles around their wrists linked by metal chains. 

Slavers. 

Itzal hated slavers. He had no respect for people who would capture and sell other people. Pirates were just as bad; stealing and selling wares without any regard for their victims, be it human or animal. 

Something ugly and twisted grew in his chest, growing like creeping vines. His vision narrowed onto the men with lethal focus, darkening at the edges. His chi pulsed in his ears, reverberating with a lower tone than normal, but he ignored it. His vision was tunneling onto the slavers, not allowing him to see anything else. 

Itzal snarled, launching himself towards the closest human. His rage bubbled out of his throat in an explosion of fire, engulfing the man. The slaver screamed, falling to the floor and writhing as the stench of burned flesh filled the air. 

Under the burning man’s screams, Itzal caught the sound of swords being unsheathed. Swinging his head towards the sound, he saw a slaver frantically brandishing a pair of dual dao. Itzal barked a disdainful laugh, his disgust evident. The slaver was holding them all wrong, using them like two swords instead of how they were supposed to be held. Itzal easily disarmed him with a slash of his claws, hitting him with his tail and tossing him against the stones. 

The rest of the slavers were just as easily dealt with, all never going to get up again. 

The silence after the last one fell was deafening. He dropped the man he’d bit hard enough to kill without any care for how he would fall. 

He barked another laugh, a grim satisfaction settling in his chest. Warm, coppery blood dripped from his jaws and his claws were coated with it. His vision was still tainted, blackened at the edges. He had a sudden desire to hunt down every slaver on earth, punishing them with the same disregard for life that they used on those that they demeaned and sold like they were nothing .

His claws dung into the stone, and he almost launched himself up into the air, when a flurry of sound defended him. Stumbling, he swung his head around and glared at the source, onto to freeze. 

A flock of crows, larger than before, had settled around the bloody campsite, but that’s not what Itzal focused on. 

Three children were buddled together, shaking with terror. Small whimpers were quickly smothered and they clung to each other. Their fear stung his nose, sharp and damning.

Itzal sharply turned away, unable to face the look in their eyes. 

Shame hit him hard, dousing him like he’d been thrown into the ocean. He inhaled deeply, centering himself and forcing himself to breathe evenly. His vision was still slightly tainted, but as he calmed himself the black haze receded until it was gone. 

He trembled, his legs feeling weak as bile rose in his throat.

So that’s what Ran and Shaw were talking about, he realized with growing dread. He despised those who took advantage of the powerless, using them for their own gain. Without meaning to, some of his hate had bled into his bending, twisting something that should be pure.

Stepping back, Itzal looked at the bodies of the slavers that he’d killed. Discomfort itched under his scales, and his shame grew. The sting of blood filled his nostrils, the metallic smell sharp against his nose. It was completely different than when he was hunting for food. 

It wasn’t because he’d killed them, no. He shared none of Aang's principles on the subject. Only those truly deranged would fall so low, and he had no mercy for those who abused children.  

However, Ran and Shaw had warned him against using hate, and that’s just what he’d done. He could understand all too easily now how the Cursed Dragon had fallen into madness and had to be put down. The temptation to go on a killing spree had been alluring, and he’d felt justified in his anger. 

No. 

Familiar weariness settled on his bones, the same one that had helped him change his mind during the war. 

He was tired of hate and anger. It did nothing but scorch the user and burn the ones around them. 

Itzal exhaled softly, concentrating on the intense surge of protection that had flooded his chi when he’d seen the children. They were young, too young to defend themselves. He needed to hold onto that source instead of hate. 

Itzal glanced back at the huddled figures. They were staying as still as they could, no doubt not wanting to attract his attention. He appreciated that they hadn’t run, but he was puzzled as to why. In their position, he would have seized the chance to escape, taking advantage of the chaos. It’s not like the slavers would have given chase while being attacked by a dragon.

Noticing his attention, the kids whimpered, jerking against their bindings. Looking closer, Itzal got his answer. 

They couldn’t have run even if they wanted to.

A stake was holding down the end of the chain, the wood buried deep into the stone. Interesting, since he hadn’t seen any earthbending stances. Well, one of them had tried, but Itzal had easily tossed that one away, hearing the neck snap within seconds of hitting the ground. Perhaps they hadn’t been a very good bender. 

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you,” Itzal chuffed gently, looking to put them at ease. 

Instead, the children flinched, scrambling away from him. They got maybe a foot away before the chain grew taut. They whimpered and one of them turned his face into another kid's shoulder.

Cursing himself for being seven different kinds of idiot, Itzal remembered that they wouldn’t be able to understand him. Self-abhorrence settled heavily on his chest. He was abruptly reminded of what he looked like to them. 

A blood-covered animal who’d slaughtered the adults around them. Granted, they had been their slavers, but still human.

He wasn’t.

Although…that might push things in his favour. 

After all the abuse that he’d gone through, Zu—Itzal had always preferred the company of animals. They’d been simple, not wanting anything from him but a gentle hand and extra scraps of food. The turtleducks were wonderful companions, and the Wani’s vermin-catching owlcats had proved invaluable to his younger self. 

Momo and Appa had been a blessing during the time that the GAang were still wary of him—except for Toph, who’d taken pleasure in bossing him around, despite him burning her feet. Momo had used him as a source of heat and Appa liked him because he’d shown him kindness when no one else was. It was funny how a giant sky bison had understood and empathized with him sooner than other humans had. 

However, Itzal was much larger than little turtleducks, owlcats and flying lemurs. He might even be taller than Appa now. Swallowing the pang of longing for familiar comforts, Itzal refocused on the children. 

Reluctant to scare them further, Itzal lay down on his belly. Unfortunately, that didn’t help him appear any smaller, but at least his head was now below theirs. 

The children muffled terrified sounds, holding on to each other. Itzal inspects them, wanting to see if they’re injured. All three kids were obviously Earth, although the one on the left might have a little Fire in them by the lighter shade of skin. The one in the middle, and the oldest around ten, her clothes were obviously richer than the other two, despite all three of them being dirty. She was wearing a hanfu, the cloth woven tighter and with more rich dyes compared to the other two. She wore no jewelry, but one of her ears was bloodied; like someone had ripped an earring out. She was obviously the one that the jade bead came from.

Itzal assumed that she was an heiress for one of the many noble families that circled the Mo Ce Sea. If he had to guess, she was from Yu Doa, which had the laxest regulations against dressing according to heritages of any of the Fire Nation colonies. The other two kids, both boys, were harder to figure out. Their clothing contained less rich dyes and didn’t fit as snug to their bodies. Perhaps farmers' children, or other less privileged status.

All of them were banged up, bruises covering their faces; one of the little boys sporting a bloody lip. Surprisingly, the girl was the most physically hurt. Itzal would have assumed that the slavers would have tried not to damage her face, most likely hoping to ransom her back to her parents. 

However, it seemed like she’d taken the brunt of the abuse. Observing the way that the two little boys were clutching her hands, Itzal could only assume that she’d protected them. 

She was still protecting them. 

She glared at Itzal, her lip jutting out mulishly even as the hands holding the boys close shook. They were also shivering. It was still early spring, the temperature dropping uncomfortably during the night.

He needed to warm them up, and fast, Itzal realized. He had to get them to trust him, but after they saw him deal with the slavers so easily, that would be no easy task. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled heat, warming up the area around them. The boys reacted first, their feet jerking back, eyes widening even further. 

None of them moved, Itzal steadily radiating heat, hoping that it would endear him to them. Or more specifically—the girl. She narrowed her eyes, her grip on the boy's tightening. 

They stayed in that stalemate for a while, Itzal patiently watching them while the boys started to squirm. They obviously wanted to get closer to the heat but were scared. The girl stayed still, not daring to blink. 

It was actually a little concerning, how rarely she blinked while staring him down. He was good at winning staring contests, but apparently, this little girl had him beaten. 

Finally, Itzal took a chance, snaking forwards until he could almost touch them, inching his way on his stomach. The kids flinched but he knew better than to abort. Gently and slowly, he lifted a whisker to the girl's temple. She tried to move away from it, but he managed to send her care and protection long enough to make her freeze. 

“Why?” she demanded, her eyes hard and guarded. She was so tense he was scared her limbs would lock up. 

Itzal stared back, not showing any of the sorrow that he felt while regarding her. 

She looked so much like Toph, young and defiant. The difference was that this little girl was jaded against the world, while Toph had been sheltered enough that she’d been free of that particular burden. She’d been hurt differently, but this girl was damaged in a way that was painfully familiar. 

Itzal looked back at the slavers' bodies, spitting a small puff of fire at them. He made sure his contempt for them was clear when he returned his attention to the children. The girl's hard front cracked, just enough for him to see the fear and confusion. 

Itzal chuffed, continuing the sound with a purr. He reached out again, this time projecting a picture of a broken chain. 

The girl blinked, looking down at hers and the boy's manacled wrists. “You want to free us?” she guessed.

Itzal nodded.

“What are you?” she muttered, baffled. 

Itzal snorted a laugh, shaking his head. Good question, kid.  

Not bothering to try and answer, Itzal inched closer, trying his best not to invade their space any more than he had to. That proved difficult, however, because to break their chains, he needed them in his teeth. Despite the discomfort it caused everyone, a couple of minutes later, the kids were flinging the metal away. 

The girl was checking the boys over for scrapes and bruises, cooing when needed to ease their pain. Itzal watched this with affection, a warmth spreading in his chest to see them caring for each other, despite not knowing who they were. 

His mood did drop a little when he saw the black bands around their wrist since he couldn’t break the manacles without harming the children. 

“Thank you,” one of the boys said, his words slurred a little by a missing front tooth. 

Itzal blinked, not expecting the gratitude. He dipped his head in a nod. 

“What do we do now?” the girl asked, cutting right through the cheer that was slowly starting to build. 

Well, he needed to get the children warm, Itzal mussed. He glanced back at the bloody campsite. However, maybe a bit further away. 

Chuffing to get their attention, Itzal nodded towards his back, still crouched. It would be a bit of a climb for them, but he could carry the three of them without issue. 

“We get to ride it?” one of the boys asked, his jaw-dropping. He turned to the girl, clearly seeking permission. 

The girl's eyes narrowed, holding them back with both arms around their shoulders. She sent him a suspicious look, clearly not ready to trust anyone, despite him showing he wanted to help. She was wary enough that he was sure that given the chance, she would bite any hand that tried to help.

“I know, it's hard to trust,” Itzal said gently, trying to convey his meaning with his eyes. “I understand, I’ve been there. You don’t have to stop being wary, but use the resources you have.”

He didn’t know if she understood his intentions, but after a moment her shoulders fell and she caved. She nodded, her lip trembling, obviously trying not to cry. Itzal had to wonder how long she’d had to be strong for the younger ones. 

It took both of them to get the boys up onto Itzal's back, the girl helping them climb. Tiny hands immediately grabbed his mane too tightly, and he bit back a grunt of pain. Thankfully, the girl noticed and told the kid off. Itzal chuffed his thanks, earning a wide-eyed stare. The girl tried to climb up without help, but her legs shook too badly to climb unaided so Itzal boosted her with his nose. 

The boys had no issues settling on his back like they would an ostrich horse, but thanks to her hanbok, the little miss had a harder time getting comfortable. Eventually, she managed it by loosening the skirt ties so the layers of fabric would allow her to straddle his back. 

Once sure that they wouldn’t tumble if he moved, Itzal got up, getting up as smoothly as he could. The kids still yelped and rocked at the teetering motion. They settled however when he was standing evenly on all four feet, waiting a bit for them to wiggle around and find their balance again. 

A caw to his right drew his attention and he looked over at the murder that had brought him to the slavers. They were scattered over the stone, all regarding him with something that felt like expectations. A pair at the front, who Itzal was beginning to think of as the leaders of the flock, watched him. A crawling sensation of being Known filled him and he dipped his head. 

“Thank you,” he muttered to them. “Thank you for breaking me out of it.” Shame still curled in his chest, upset that he’d fall into something that he’d been warned about. It was familiar, with the same bitter taste from when he’d realized just what he’d done after Ba Sing Se. He’d betrayed his uncle, and ignored the teaching of the one man that had tried so hard to bond with him. The man accepted him at his worst, knowing he could be better.

He lowered his head into a bow, bringing it close to the bird's level. 

One of the crows croaked softly, hopping closer to peck him gently on the nose. It felt like forgiveness and a reprimand at the same time. 

Itzal huffed gently. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

The two crows regarded him silently before bowing back. They took to the air, moving in a flurry of wingbeats. Itzal lifted his head, chuffing as they circled him then rose higher. Within moments it was just Itzal and the kids, standing alone in the bloody campgrounds. 

He pushed the shame and feeling of being dirty aside and headed towards the forest. 

He needed to get the kids away from this place. 

As he walked, Itzal did his best to keep his gait smooth despite the uneven terrain. His long, serpentine body made it easier than it would be for a two-legged ostrich horse, but he still had to shift his weight to bend to the land he walked on. He knew from experience that riding any landmass creature isn’t always the most enjoyable. As a prince, both banished and not, he’d been exposed to multiple ways of getting around. The only one he could confidently say was a non-bumpy ride was a palanquin, but he’d always felt bad for the men carrying them. 

As he entered the forest, slipping easily between the trees, the sun had fully set. He knew his plan was to travel every night so he could get to the 41st in time, but there was no way he was just abandoning three kids in the wilderness.

He’ll figure it out in a little while. 

He could still see easily in the darkness, so weaving his way through the dense underbrush wasn’t an issue. The kids on the other hand were huddling close together, jumping at every snap of a branch or the hoot of an owlcat. 

“Are we going to be okay?” he heard one of the boys ask with a waiver in his voice. 

“It’s going to be okay,” the girl soothed, and Itzal heard the soft sound of her patting the little boy's head.

“But the forest at night is dangerous,” the other boy protested. “Mama always said not to go out when you can’t see.”

Itzal rumbled softly, warming up his scales in an effort to comfort them. 

The kids quietly for a moment, jerking at the increase of warmth. “Your mama’s very smart,” the girl said once they had relaxed again. “There are a lot of big predators in the forest at night. You could get hurt.”

“The bad men lived in the dark,” the first spoke again, his voice hushed. 

Itzal bit back a growl. Despite already taking care of the slavers, his anger at them still burned. A swift end was too good for them.  It was necessary, however; the kids took priority. 

The girl was silent for a moment. “They did,” she agreed. “But I don’t think we have to be scared.”

“Because of him?” one of the boys asked, the one with a softer voice. 

A shift of cloth, the girl most likely nodding.

“He’s scarier,” the other boy blurted. 

Itzal grimaced, knowing that they were talking about him. Of course the kids thought he was scary. He was more than three times their size, and they’d just witnessed him easily kill the slavers.

“Scarier than any platypus bear,” the soft-spoken boy commented.

The girl snorted. “He is.”

Well, that was better than nothing, Itzal settled on. In the meantime, Itzal continued walking, keeping the kids warm by heating his scales. They travelled in relative silence, letting the spring peepers fill the air with their song, crickets joining the symphony. A light growl drew his attention, Itzal’s ear rotating toward the sound. He was confused for a moment when it originated from his back.

The kids were hungry , he realized with a grimace.

And he couldn’t feed them. Foraging for berries was out since it was too early in the season for any to be ripe. Same with any fruits. He might be able to get some nuts if he found a tree that he recognized. 

No such luck. Maybe an hour later, the kids were falling asleep on his back and Itzal took it as a sign to stop. Finding a comfortable looking clearing, Itzal got them off his back and nestled within his coiled body. There was a mild protest, but once he got them settled, they quickly dropped off, exhausted. 

Itzal observed them for a moment, then began the task of cleaning his scales and claws. He should have done it earlier, but the children had mattered more. When he was finished, he stayed awake, a silent guard against the world. 

He’d just rescued them from slavers , they deserve to rest and feel safe. 

Even if it's just for a night.

Chapter Text

Since he was keeping watch over the children, Itzal was wide awake when someone caught up to them. Itzal wasn’t surprised, but nor did he welcome the intrusion. His ears pricked at the sound of a large animal crashing through the underbrush, almost drawing out the commands from a female voice. It had been a possibility that someone was scouting ahead before looping back to the main group. He hadn’t fully expected them to chase after him, not after the state he left her companions in. 

Focusing on protecting the children, Itzal gathered chi in his chest. Sparks jumped in his open maw, heat condensing on his tongue. Whoever was after him was about to get a facefull of fire. 

However, when they burst through the foliage and Itzal saw who it was, he snapped his jaw closed, swallowing the flames.

The animal the rider was on screeched inhumanly, shrill and panicked, and Itzal felt the kids snap awake. He covered them with his wing, snarling defensively. Itzal hesitated to attack, recognizing the creature. It was large, four legged and covered in brown fur. With no eyes on its face, it was obviously blind, instead seeing by its wiggling pink star shaped nose. 

It was a shirshu, and the woman wrestling with the pacing animal was just as familiar. The bounty hunter June, appearing no different then when he’d last seen her, gaped at him. She looked haggard, her silky hair just a touch out of place and her painted lips lighter than normal. 

Colourful swears filled the air as she wrestled Nyla away from Itzal. He watched her, a sliver of amusement rose in his chest as he kept her shirshu away from him, or as she saw it, a dragon that could fry her and her companion within minutes. 

“Just go around it!” she hissed at Nyla, tugging on his reins. 

The shirshu followed her direction for a bit, giving Itzal a wide berth. Although, when he reached the point of heading away from Itzal, the animal sniffed the air again, whined and turned back to him. 

He saw the moment June realized that he had the children. Her uneasy expression hardened into a murderous glare. She grabbed her whip and she snapped it with a thunderous sound. 

“So you only eat children, is that it?” she hissed. 

Itzal’s head jerked backwards, completely baffled. 

What was she implying?

June sneered at him, barely controlling Nyla as he paced to and fro. “It’s just my luck that I’d run into a man eating dragon, koh damn it! Every man in that camp was killed by some animal. Not a pound of flesh missing, but the children? There were supposed to be three kids there, you monster!”

Itzal stared at her, not expecting that at all. 

Man-eating? 

Monster?

He’d been called many things, most of them bad, but that particular moniker was normally used for his sister, not him. For it to be coming from a woman that he respected, and had even earned some respect in return, it stung. 

Suddenly, he could understand his sister just a little more. Everyone that came across Azula, feared her, even their mother. If Ursa had treated him like this…he might have lost it too. 

June thought he’d killed the slavers and eaten the children. Granted, he could follow her logic, but it still burned. He would never hurt children. Even when he was lost in his anger at the world, the only child he’d ever targeted was Aang, and it hadn’t even occurred to him to use lethal force.

“I didn’t eat them!” he snarled, snapping his teeth. The fur in his mane was briskling, static jumping with his irritation. 

June flinched and Nyla whined, almost rearing. His tongue was hanging out without June giving the order to use it as a threat. The shirshu was scared enough of Itzal to display it on his own. 

“Look; three healthy, non-chomped kids right here!” Itzal yanked his wing up, jerking his head at the coil of his body, allowing her to see the small faces that were peeking over his tail. The kids quickly ducked back down, staying as silent as they could. By the way little hands were grabbing his scales, he knew that they trusted him over another human. 

He refused to think too hard about that, instead keeping his gaze firmly on the bounty hunter.

June froze, arm half raised to lash out with her whip. Confusion and anger waged war across her face, her one visible eye darting between his sharp teeth and where she’d seen the children. Nyla was pacing, echoing his riders nervousness.

“Lady Qiu Jingyi?” June asked, her tone hopeful but projecting a calmness that she wasn’t wearing. 

Itzal raised a brow, impressed by her vocal control. He wasn’t shocked, he knew the woman to be very competent, but it was another thing to witness it.

The girl flinched against him, her grip on his scales tightening to the point of pain. He’d have to check to see if she yanked any out later. Instead of berating her, he rumbled gently, placing his wing back over where they were hiding. 

He trusted that June wouldn’t hurt the kids, she’d probably been given a job to find the heiress after all. She wouldn’t jeopardize earning her fair pay if nothing else. 

“I’m not here to hurt you,” June continued when she didn’t receive an answer. “Your father is paying quite a sum to have you safely returned home.” 

The girl, Lady Qui, didn't move for a long moment. She was trembling, fear coming off her in waves. She took a deep breath and peeked over the edge of his side again. 

“Who are you?” she demanded, tone commanding despite the waver in her voice. 

June’s shoulders sagged as she caught sight of the little girl. She closed her eyes for just a second, and Itzal watched as she pulled herself together. Dismounting from Nyla, she came a little closer, although she still eyed Itzal cautiously. 

“My name is June, little miss. I’m a bounty hunter. Your father came into my place offering a pretty copper for your safe return,” she said, stopping just out of Itzal’s snapping distance. Which was a sign of trust on its own, June would be well aware of how far bent fire could reach. 

“What about the other kids?” Lady Qui questioned. It was said with command, despite her young age, like she expected to be listened to. 

June’s eye half blinked, showing her surprise in the small movement. “Are they with you?”

“Yes.”

“Then I see no reason not to bring them back to Yu Doa too.”

Itzal snorted softly, proud that he’d guessed correctly. That was also close to June’s bar where he’d hired her to hunt down Katara with her mother’s necklace. He winced at the thought, hoping to prevent that incident from recurring. 

June’s eye flicked to him at the small sound. 

“Really?” one of the boys asked, his head popping up next to Lady Qui’s. She tried to shove him back down, but he ducked out of the way. “You’ll take us home?”

“Yup,” June said, popping the p. “Or I'm taking you to Lady Qui’s daddy. He’ll get you home from there.”

Itzal narrowed his eyes, cocking his head suspiciously. There was no way she could guarantee a noble caring about peasants. Although…glancing at the little lady, he doubted she’d give her father much of a choice. The fact that he spent so much to get his daughter back was a decent indicator that he was a good parent, but Itzal wasn’t holding his breath. Still, Itzal kept his reservations to himself.

The boys cheered, finally comfortable enough to clammer out of Itzal’s protective coils. He allowed it, even moved his tail so they wouldn’t have to climb over him. Lady Qui was slower to come out, more wary of the strange adult. Itzal had to push her forwards with his nose to get her moving. 

June squatted to look at the kids, inspecting them. She hissed in sympathy at their bruised faces. She dug around in Nyla's saddle bag for a moment before returning with a small jar. Gently, she rubbed some cream over their injuries, explaining that it would help with the pain.

Itzal watched with amusement, having never seen June this gentle with anyone . He guessed that everyone had a soft spot for kids. Most people did, he’d comed to learn. Looking back on his own childhood, he’d had to wonder how much he’d gotten away with sneaking around the palace was actually due to his own skill and not the servants and guards humoring him. 

“What’s the story with big scally over here?” he heard June ask, her question cutting through his thoughts. 

“He saved us!” one of the boys blurted, a huge grin on his face. 

“Oh?” June prompted, but she wasn’t looking at the kid. Instead, she was appraising Itzal, regarding him with a different eye. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but at least she wasn’t assuming hostility anymore. 

Itzal bore her scrutiny without fuss. He had nothing to hide. 

Well, nothing that she would guess at anyway. 

The other little boy nodded, not as loud as the other. “The scary men said that they were going to sell us,” he said quietly, gripping Lady Qui’s hand tightly. “Then he came and killed them.”

June hummed, the dark makeup over her eye making her half lidded gaze more imposing. 

Itzal ignored her, ducking his head so he could press a whisker to the little girl's temple. She jumped at his touch but didn’t pull away. Sure he had her attention, he projected the image of a bowl of jook, steam wafting from the surface.

The girl shot him an incredulous look. 

No! She mouthed at him. 

He jerked his head towards June, urging her to speak up. The Spirits can hear your stomach growling, kid.

She scowled but didn’t argue further. She gulped a lungful of air and straightened her back. With her shoulders stiff and hands neatly clasped in front of her, she stood with perfect court posture. Despite the dirt on her clothes and her air disarrayed, Itzal could clearly picture her attending a noble ball with ease.

“Miss June,” she started politely, turning back to the bounty hunter. 

“Yeah, little lady?” June’s gaze flicked between him and the girl, clearly wondering what was going on.

“Do you have any food?” 

June stared down at the girl, eye widening. Her gaze darted to Itzal, her expression making him bark a laugh. He didn’t think he’d ever seen the woman look so dumbfounded.

She shook her head and snorted. “Yeah kid, I have something you can eat.”

Itzal sat back as June took care of the kids, handing out traveling dumplings. Not meant to last too long, but would survive rougher treatment. Plus, depending on their filling, they could sustain an adult for some time. To the kids, it was probably more food than they’d had in days. Soon enough, June was satisfied with the children's care and ushered them up onto Nyla. It took some coaxing, for the kids as well as the shirshu, but soon enough everyone was settled on his back. 

Itzal stood when she flicked Nyla’s riens, urging him forwards. June eyed the dragon trotting after them, her lips pressed into a line. 

“You can understand me,” she stated more than asked. 

Itzal nodded anyway, falling into step with Nyla. The Shirshu hissed quietly, clearly not liking having such a large predator so close to him. Itzal eyed him warily in turn. He remembered all too well the paralytic properties of that tongue. 

June ignored their interaction, since there was no way she didn’t see it. She hummed thoughtfully. “I’d heard that dragons were smart. Makes people wonder how you all got whipped out,” she added, her voice a smoky purr. 

Itzal raised his lips in a soundless snarl. He knew what she was doing, poking buttons to see how much she could get away with. It was something she did with everyone she came across, needing to know their limits. Years ago, when he first met her, he’d puffed up at her teasing, being the insecure teenager that he’d been. Now, he tried to let her needling roll off his back. 

“That’s a dragon?” one of the boys whispered, only to be hushed by the little lady. 

“Someone obviously tried killing you; and failed to do so,” June mused, ignoring the kids and his bared teeth. “Your eye didn’t come out of that fight as good as before.”

Well, that was one way to put it. 

Itzal snorted hotly. His wing digits flexed slightly before performing a full body shake. He always disliked when people brought up his scar, but he hated it more when they talked about it like it was something it wasn't. 

Such a large scar like his told different stories, depending on where he was. In the Earth Kingdom, it implied something that wasn’t true. Everyone talked about it, trying to figure out how he got it, most of them coming to their own conclusions. It had never been an issue with his crew, but once he was pretending to be a refugee, it suddenly became one. To people running from firebenders, a burn scar like his meant that he survived when he very well should not have, fighting for his life. 

However, those situations were for a human, with human reasons to be attacked. As a dragon, the Fire Nation was actively seeking his head. So, assuming that he received his scar while fighting for his life was a decent guess. 

A wrong one, but he could follow their logic.

To him, the scar would always be a mark of failure. 

He failed for so many reasons.

The main being how he failed to see what a monster his father was. He failed by thinking that the man would care enough not to disfigure him. The moment he’d turned around and saw his father, Zuko had known that he wasn’t leaving there without a burn, he just didn’t want to believe it. In the back of his head, he was well aware that Ozai was cruel, but he’d twisted his perception of it to make his life in the palace more bearable. 

Accepting the truth as it was, he acknowledged that surrendering had been the best thing he could have done. If he’d fought, Ozai might have actually killed him.

“Either way, thanks for protecting the kids,” June continued, breaking him out of his thoughts again. “Why you would, I have no idea. What? Don’t look at me like that, you’re a big meat eater.”

Itzal’s eyes narrowed, a low growl filling the silence between them. He didn’t need a reason to save children.

June huffed, tapping her finger on Nyla’s riens. “Some would say I owe you an apology.”

Itzal blinked, turning his head to see her more clearly. But not you.

She shrugged. “I jumped to a logical conclusion, one that was obviously wrong. But there is no way I'm saying sorry to an overgrown lizard.”

Itzal sneezed flame, shooting her an aghast look. Dragons were not overgrown lizards! They didn’t even look the same! He wasn’t even a proper dragon and he took offense to that. 

The corners of Junes lips twitched and one of the boys muffled a giggle. 

Itzal groaned, his ears flattening against his skull. Even unable to have a proper conversation with the woman, she was somehow managing to turn his reactions into different ways to mock him. It would have been impressive if her target was anyone else. 

He huffed smoke at her face, making her sputter and cough. Nyla hissed, clearly warning Itzal against attacking his rider. He growled back at the animal, showing how he wasn’t afraid of him. 

“Rude,” June snapped, whipping at her eye. She lightly hit Nyla with the reins, instructing him to back off. 

Itzal shook his mane out. 

June groaned and they began a one sided banter, her saying something and him reacting to it. There were a lot of things he wished he could say, but the language barrier made the task impossible. It was almost too frustrating to get misunderstood and he wanted to give up. 

Yet, the giggles the children were trying not to let escape made the effort worth it. 

The sun was just beginning to rise when Itzal stopped walking. The children had dropped off to sleep sometime during the night, too exhausted to stay awake. June noticed his lack of movement immediately, halting Nyla. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked. While they traveled the two of them had developed a tentative lexicon of facial expressions and movements. If something was truly threatening them, she’d get the gist. 

Itzal shook his head. 

“Then why did you stop?” she demanded. “The sooner these kids get to somewhere safe, the better everything will be.”

She was right, but that wasn’t why he was stopping. He glanced eastwards, at the lightning sky, then tossed his head, shaking his mane. 

He couldn’t keep traveling with them. 

He’d wasted enough time, hours that he should have been using to reach the 41st. But, he wouldn’t have left children to fend for themself. Now that they were under June's care, he didn’t have to stick around. 

“What’s wrong with the sun? Aren’t dragons children of Agni?” she asked, brow arched teasingly.

Itzal rolled his eyes. He turned his head and rubbed the left side of his face on his shoulder, before looking at her through his damaged eye. He could still see her, but things were blurry and in less focus. 

“Ah. The dragon hunts.” June sighed, mirth fading. “Alright, I get it. I’ll tell the kids that you’re fine; you just had to leave.”

Itzal nodded. That was all he wanted. 

He turned, his tail sweeping up dust and dried leaves. He sniffed the air, hoping to find an old animal cave that he could hide in before full sunrise.

“Wait.”

Itzal paused, almost fully rotating his neck around to look at her. He chuffed inquisically, his whiskers twitching. 

“The Dragon Hunts aren't as common, now that the Dragon of the West declared that he’d killed the last dragon, but they’re still a thing. I don’t know what the fuck you were doing before now to keep yourself safe, but you need to do it again if you don’t want your head on someones wall.”

Itzal felt a pang at his uncle's moniker. He’d been trying not to think about the man who was more like a father to him than his actual sire. But Iroh didn’t know him, not this version of him. 

He forced himself to snort, swiping at his face with a paw. He was quite aware of that little fact.

June arched her brow, clearly taking note of his derision. 

“Can’t say I didn’t try,” she muttered. Without saying a goodbye, she snapped the reins, causing Nyla to jump forwards. 

Itzal watched her go, his tail flicking as he thought. 

It was nice of her to warn him. June was many things; crass and blunt, and someone that demanded the same effort she put into things, making her a hard taskmaster. However,  he’d always hesitate to call her heartless. 

Once Nyla and his four passengers went around a bend in the road, disappearing from sight, Itzal followed suit. He vanished into the thicker woods, not wanting to linger. 

Finding a nice cave to spend the day in, Itzal rested while the sun shone overhead. He woke near dusk, yawning widely. Shaking lingering sleep from his limbs, he tested how his body felt. Thanks to the light travel the night before, and a full day of rest, he wasn’t in as much pain. Leaping right into battle hadn’t helped his soreness, but it was manageable. 

Rushing into a fight with a concussion and broken ribs had hurt more. 

He would survive. 

Darkness rolled in, allowing Itzal to venture further out into the open. June and him had been making their way to the Mo Ce Sea shore, intending to use the coast as a guide to Yu Doa, or, if she was lucky, managing to catch a fare across the water. They’d gotten a lot closer than he thought they had, and Itzal found himself at the shore, the waves lapping on the sandy beach. 

Opening his wings, Itzal leapt into the air, a grin spreading across his face. He rose quickly into the twilight sky, reaching a decent altitude within minutes. The wind pulled at his mane, tugging it playfully and the clouds danced around him. Instead of tucking his legs in close to reduce drag, he kicked them like he was running, enjoying the freedom it brought him. 

He now fully understood Aang’s preference for airbending. 

All of the GAang—except for Toph—had learned to enjoy the feeling of flight while riding on Appa gave them, but there had always been the lingering fear that someone would fall. 

Now, Itzal didn’t have that worry. 

His flight was shorter this time, an island coming into view around midnight. He recognized it, angling his body into a descent. As far as he knew, no one lived there. The closest settlement was the town at the base of Mount. Makapu, named after the volcano that slept there. Not many people went to the island because, one, it was too close to the volcano and two, the town had a reputation for being strange.

He’d been there once but didn’t stay long enough to discover why. He’d made the mistake of bringing it up around Sokka, sending the warrior off on a rant. He had no wish to go to a village too close minded to be skeptical about things even if they were hitting them in the face. 

Not that he had anything against fortune tellers, he’d encountered enough spiritual nonsense to believe that it could be real. It was the attitude he objected to. 

He’d spent enough time faithfully believing a lie. 

Regardless, he required a spot to spend the next day and the island was the perfect place. It was a little closer than he’d like, but he knew he’d have to push himself farther the next night, to get over the sea and into the mountains at the end of the Great Divide. Even when chasing the Avatar he’d been forced to pace himself. This was no different. 

Reaching the island, Itzal landed gently in the middle of a flourishing meadow. The grass tickled his ankles and he breathed in the fresh sense of new growth. Spring was in full force, fresh grass sprouting under last year's brown remains. 

Yawning, Itzal rotated his wings, pleased by the dull ache that greeted him. It still hurt, but it was a lot less than before. Happy with his progress, he used the rest of the night to hunt a small meal. Nothing too big, considering he ate a few days prior. When dawn broke, he was finishing up his meal. 

Feeling bolder on an island lacking humans, Itzal took the chance to meditate while Agni rose. It had been a few days since he’d been able to and he felt the difference. 

He needed it. 

The lingering remains of fueling his bending with hate were still there. It clung like rust on metal, not giving way unless forced to. Soaking up the energy from the rising sun improved the process, but it still sapped at his already exhausted mind. 

In fact, after he’d purged the remaining darkness, he’d settled in the grass where he was and fell asleep. His dreams were filled with the sensation of running, chasing after something. Something just out of reach, giggling every time he got close. 

A pang of loss stung his eyes when he woke. It hurt, but he pushed it aside, not willing to linger. Getting up, he made his way to the far shore.

Birds chirped and sang to each other above him, the symphony increasing when he reached the forest centered around a mountain. None seemed to pay him any mind, continuing their spring dance while he walked beneath them. The leaves overhead filtered the sun, casing the path before him in dappled shade. Animals were quieter than the birds, scurrying out of his path. However, he still found hints of their presence, both with his nose as well as his eyes. 

 Itzal appreciated the peace the island exuded, without the war nipping at its heels. Not many places were able to keep such calm, not without teeth of their own. The swamp was free of strife, but it also was too treacherous for the Fire Nation to make any progress there. 

This island was miraculously free of them, making him wonder why. Yet he knew better than to look too closely. He didn’t have the time to spare if whatever drove humans away saw fit to turn their attention to him. 

With that in mind, running into a human while on the island was the last thing he expected.

Itzal froze the moment he saw her, sitting alone in a clearing. It was an old woman, her hair gray and steak with whtie. She wore a yellow robe, and a golden headdress was perched on her bun. At her feet was a basket and an unfurled rug that her toes were just barely touching. She was fiddling with something in her lap. 

Itzal instantly recognized her, and wanted to turn around right away. 

“Come sit with me,” she called, not looking up from her reading. 

Itzal was going to ignore her, walk away while he could, but the next thing ‘aunt’ Wu said made him freeze. 

“Displaced one, I have things you need to hear.”

Itzal’s head snapped around, gapping at her. She met his gaze squarely, a vastness unveiled. Her eyes were green, just like any other earth kingdom citizen, but he felt like he was catching a glimpse of a void he wasn’t meant to see. 

So there had been a shred of truth to her fortunes, he realized. Then why did Sokka complain so much about this woman? Maybe she was like Uncle, he mused; putting on a false front to hide the danger they could pose. 

Seeing no reason to deny the request, he came over and settled on the grass, tucking his legs like a pygmy puma. Now that he was closer, he glanced at what she’d been working on. She was cleaning a yellow-white stick, the cloth in her hand wiping dirt away. However, it didn’t smell like a stick. There was something…earthy about it. Inspecting it a little closer, he realized that it was a bone. Not a human one, by its shape, more likely from a pig-chicken or other variant of bird. Peeking at the basket, he saw that she had a couple more there, mishmashed pieces from different creatures. 

A little put off, but having seen stranger things, Itzal ignored it, focusing back on the woman. 

“I’m glad that I foresaw the right day,” Wu started conversationally, setting her cleaning aside to fold her hands in her lap. “When you would rest on this island was hazed with mist; time is always difficult to discern. Perhaps the Spirits had a hand in clearing my vision.”

Itzal’s tail swished lightly through the grass. 

She smiled at his non-reaction. “You’re in a rush. Very well, I won’t take up too much of your time. My question is this,” she started, and her face smoothed out and Itzal felt like he was gazing at the surface of a clear lake. The kind that were so reflective that it was impossible to tell what hid underneath. 

“Are you sure you’re on the right path?”

It took Itzal a second to register what she’d said before he growled. The sound rumbled deep and low in his chest as he glared at the woman.

She held his gaze steadily. “Changing fate is a dangerous endeavor, Fire Lord Zuko."

Itzal froze. 

Only the dragons had used that title. It was strange and unnerving to hear it from someone who should really not know it. His skin itched, and he shook, disliking the unpleasant feeling it gave him. His scales rattled, the sound like dried leaves crumbling. 

“I’m not going to just let innocent people die, ” he snarled. He knew she wouldn’t understand him but he couldn’t keep himself from answering.

Wu regarded him evenly, unfazed by his anger. “I’m aware it’s not what you wanted to hear, Fire Lord, but it’s my duty to inform people about what I see. Even if people do not want to hear it.”

Z—Itzal opened his mouth to snap at her, but she held up a hand. “I’m not saying to stop,” she added, confusing him. Seeing his expression, she smiled kindly. “What you’re trying to do is admiral, but for every successful change to occur, an equal price must be paid. You’re going against fate , your Majesty. You may instigate the fall, but you cannot predict how the bones land.” 

In one swift motion, she gathered the bones on her lap and tossed them on the dirt at their feet. 

Zuko stared down at the bouncing bones, his attention fixed. She had grabbed five, each from a different creature. The pieces rolled over the cloth before coming to a stop. He couldn’t read what they were telling the woman, but a couple of them were bunched together, and one broke after it hit a stone. 

“My only goal is that you be aware of how dangerous that is.”

Zu—Itzal’s ears flicked back and flattened against his skull. She had a point, one that he’d been trying not to think about. Now confronted with it, he found that his answer was the same if someone had asked him to walk into battle alone. 

He’d done it before. Time and time again, he’d thrown himself against unbeatable odds, somehow managing to come out on top, despite all of his losses. He’d had so much riding on his victory, the weight of his people on his shoulders. Uncle, everyone had been counting on him.

This time, the end goal was the same and he had nothing to lose. 

“Everything has a price,” Itzal spat. He inhaled deeply, holding his anger within his chest then released it with his next exhale. Now calmer, he cocked his head in a careless motion. 

“My whole life is a test against fate,” he told her wryly. “Just because it's difficult, doesn't mean I shouldn't do it. I would have died a long time ago if I did.”

Wu didn’t say anything, but he could tell she understood the gist of what he’d been trying to get across. He held her gaze squarely, accepting the depth that he saw there. 

Finally, she nodded. “May the Spirits bless your journey, Agni’s Dragon,” she told him, getting to her feet to bow to him. 

Itzal blinked at the monicor, thrown. Scrambling to answer in kind, he dipped his head. 

She smiled at him, picking up her basket and left. Itzal watched her go, unease rolling in his gut. 

Why had she called him that?

Chapter Text

A few days had passed since Itzal had his encounter with the fortuneteller. High above sea level, he traversed through the mountains spanning between Hei Bei’s forest and Senlin village. It was colder, but he wasn’t bothered by the small chill. Above the clouds, the sun was stronger, heating his scales to combat the cold. The energy he was soaking up was a nice change from traveling under the cover of moonlight. 

It was peaceful among the craggy peaks, the wind rustling his mane. It was fun to leap from cliff to cliff, high above the valleys below. He traveled like this for a while, long enough that he was beginning to reach the end of the mountain rage. Finding a flat enough surface, Itzal was just going to lay down for a short nap when he heard it.

Loud booms shattered the peace, and he snapped his head towards the sound. 

Smoke started to billow from the forest on the other side of the river. Dread filling his chest, he lept into the air, beating his wings powerfully. Over the rushing of wind, he could hear the sounds of screaming and crushing stone. 

He was too late.

The battle had already begun, and he had no idea how long they’d been fighting. He couldn’t waste another moment, damn people seeing him in the daylight. 

Smoke rose in columns, black and smelling of burning wood and flesh. Trees fell as the very earth beneath them ripped up. Drawing closer, he saw the soldiers running around, so small from where he was above them. The 41st were doing badly, the line of fire being pushed back towards the river. The soldiers were being pinned against the bank, a few even falling into the water. 

Itzal growled to himself, enraged to see the senseless battle occurring below him. 

Snapping his wings to his side, Itzal dove, the wind ripped past him as he plummeted towards the earth. He never hesitated, forgoing any thought of his safety, in hope he could save even just one more life. Falling towards the battle as fast as he could manage, he quickly tried to figure out how long they’d been fighting. While he was searching, he caught the glint of armor hiding in the forest behind the Earth Kingdom line. 

Rage bubbled in Itzal’s chest, and he narrowed his eyes at the soldiers just waiting until the 41st were slaughtered so they could swoop in and take the win. 

No. 

He wouldn’t sit back and allow that to happen. 

With smoke and dust filling the air, the men on the ground were unaware of Itzal above them. None were prepared when a dark shadow descended. At the final moment he opened his wings, sending ash swirling from the force behind them. Men and women on both sides cried out as his form emerged from the haze of the battle, falling and stumbling back. 

Itzal let out a powerful roar as the ground shook from his impact, releasing a wave of flames; not to hurt but to deter. He did not wish to hurt the earth benders, but he had to make them see that he would not allow them to continue to attack his men. 

No more would die this day, not if he could help it. 

“What in Koh’s name is that thing?!” he hears someone cry and he whips his head towards the sound. A group of Earth Kingdom soldiers stumbled back, their eyes wide with terror. Itzal’s nostrils flared at the bitter smell of their fear. 

Itzal bellowed a roar, letting sparks spit from his lips. He opened his wings wide, his tail lashing the ground. 

“Are you blind? It’s a spirit damned dragon ! Move!” another snarled, snapping the lot of them out of it. 

Three benders stepped to the front, sliding into a stance that Itzal vaguely recognized. He might have seen Toph use it a few times but the blind girl’s style was less formulaic then the one he was witnessing now. Maybe it was because she learned it from the original benders, but Toph’s style felt far more raw and unpredictable. 

Three feet stomped down at once, Itzal focusing on the dull thud they made instead of the din of battle around them. He was retaliating before they had even finished bending the boulders from the earth. Swinging around, Itzal batted the stone away with his tail, catching the last with his teeth. He exhaled flame, the heat he breathed so hot that the stone in his mouth started to melt.

Molten rock dripped from his jaws, sizzling as it landed on the forest bed at his feet. He couldn’t bend the lava, but he opened his maw just enough for it to flow freely. It was unpleasantly warm, but he ignored the discomfort. The more dangerous and like a dark spirit he looked, the greater the chance someone would succumb to fear and call a retreat. 

The Earth soldiers whimpered and stumbled back, their faces paling under their facial hair. 

Itzal stalked towards them, snarling. The lava flew from his mouth like saliva, glowing with the heat he was exuding.

"S-spirit m-monster!" one whimpered.

“Oma and Shu,” another whispered, their eyes wide as they gaped at him.

“ Your Spirits are not here ,” Itzal growled, his words coming out as snarls to the humans. 

The nerves of a couple of men left them and they screamed. A couple fell onto their behinds, scrambling to get away from him. 

Itzal resisted the urge to snort, unexpectedly amused by their fear. Fully sliding into the role of a villain, he drew himself up, wings spread wide to create an ominous silhouette. He exhaled smoke, an ashy cloud billowing to obscure his shape. Behind him, he heard the second Fire Nation battalion give up on stealth and emerge. The fwoosh of flames igniting sounded from behind him, and he felt the heat of dozens of fires. 

“We’re surrounded!” someone else screamed, panicked and high pitched. “There are Fire Nation soldiers in the trees!”

“Fucking ashmaking cowards!” a pikeman cursed. 

“It’s a trap! Focus on the rear!” someone else yelled, his armor decorated with the sign of a commander, raising his voice and did his best to be heard above the mayhem. There was a ripple through the ranks around them as word got passed around.

With the general tide of the battle changing, Itzal didn’t have time to focus on them. Not now that the Earth soldiers were aware that the 41st were just a diversion. 

He opened his wings and beat them, launching himself up and over the soldiers. Ash and sparks were thrown into the air with his take off. 

This time the humans were aware of the far larger predator above them. Many screamed and scattered away from the shadow he cast, tripping over each other. A few more level headed soldiers drew bows, frantically notching arrows to the strings.

Itzal ignored them all, his gaze turning to the river bank. The young soldiers were wading into the flowing river, desperate enough to risk being swept away by the current. Itzal twisted in midair, dodging arrows doing their best to land a hit. Seeing more aimed at him, he tucked his wings in close and spun his body into a barrel roll, copying a motion he’d seen Aang perform. The arrows caught on the moving air and were flung away. 

Using the sparse moments it would take for the archers to reload, Itzal shot for the river. Swooping along the length of the initial fighting line, he released another breath of fire, scorching the earth. Golden dragon fire caught on the forest floor, leaping high yet not spreading like normal fire would. 

In moments he'd made a steady wall of flame. The humans scrambled away from the inferno, the Fire Nation soldiers gaping open mouthed at the rainbow of colours that flickers among the overwhelming gold. 

Itzal spun and angled his wings so he’d swoop near the rear. He landed closest to a group of young soldiers dragging the injured away. They yelped when they caught sight of him. 

Startled, one dropped the legs of the man they were trying to carry. They fell into a sloppy fire bending stance, the shakiness of their root obvious. Itzal let the fire ball wash over him without trying to bat it away. It was too weak to burn a human, let alone a dragon's scales. Seeing him emerge unharmed, the soldier's pale face whitened further, and they scrambled back. 

Itzal bounded over to the group, half flying and half running. He ignored the soldiers, leaping over them to land just in time to catch a flying bolder with his shoulder. He grunted at the force, barely able to keep his unsteady stance. 

A Earth Kingdom soldier who’d gotten caught on the wrong side of his firewall gaped at him, hands trembling. 

Itzal lunged forwards, snatching the man in his jaws. He shook his head once, just gently enough to daze and not snap the soldier's neck before tossing him through the fire. 

His shoulder throb painfully but he ignored the sting, more intent on pouncing on his next victim. He tried not to fatally injure anyone, since these soldiers were only following orders just like his people. 

He took a lot of hits for the young 41st soldiers; thrown stones and arrows that the humans he was protecting couldn't avoid. Between covering for the soldiers, he was chasing the enemy combatants close to the firewall before tossing them through. The fire would hurt, but no more than light burns. 

Itzal kept the wall fueled with his chi, golden flames dancing with multiple colours. It burned brightly, despite the mid-day sun shining above.

“Hey! Dragon!” he heard someone shout, and he swung his head around with a glare.

The soldier waving her arms at him pointed to the wall. She was missing her helmet, and black hair was falling out of her top knot. Blood clung to her temple, shiny in the firelight. 

“There’s still people on the other side!” she shouted. 

Itzal dipped his head in a quick nod, thanking her. 

Running towards the flames, he gathered his legs underneath him and leapt through the flames. He didn’t even feel the fire against his scales, but the very air around him wavered and bent with the heat. The already destroyed forest floor crumbled under his claws as he landed, his massive frame shaking the earth. 

The soldiers fighting on the other side faltered just for a second at his entrance, turning to gape at him. The small window allowed him to quickly take in how the battle was going.

The female soldier was right. 

His people were doing their best to fight against the Earth Kingdom army, but it was painfully obvious how untrained and green they were. 

How young.  

More than half of the bodies lying still on the ground were clad in red. 

His eyes sweeping over the humans, it wasn't that strange that his gaze caught and held with those of a small soldier. Eyes the colour of amber blew wide and the boy gaped at him, mouth wide. His lips moved, mouthing something that Itzal couldn't hear. 

Itzal grinned at the boy, elated to see a spark of hope egnite in those young eyes. 

Only for the boy to snap to the side when a boulder hit him squarely on the side of his head. 

Itzal could only watch in horror as the soldier fell. 

"NO!" 

The scream ripped out of him, the dragon only half aware it came from him. He lept forwards, racing to the fallen boy as fast as he could. Reaching him, Itzal frantically nosed him onto his back, searching his face desperately for any spark of life. 

Open eyes greeted him but they were dull, void of the light that he’d just witnessed. Blood coated his temple, matting his hair.

He was already gone.

Grief swelled, choking Itzal. Anger burned within his chest, sparks jumping from his mouth. He turned away, swinging to glare viciously in the direction the boulder had come from. He couldn't identify any one bender; the battlefield was too chaotic. 

Instead he saw more people dropping like the stones crushing them. Those that remained were clumped together, the ones barely able to hold their own protecting a group that had collapsed and were unable to run. They were being surrounded by the soldiers not caught up with the fight at the rear. 

No.

He wouldn't allow any more to die.

Letting out a thunderous roar, Itzal sprang into the battle. He rammed into a battalion, kicking up ash and dirt while tossing a couple with his head. He planted himself over the injured, hoping that they wouldn't attack his soft underbelly. He snarled threatenly, his sharp teeth on full display. 

His anger bubbled within him, wanting to explode. His chest heaved with the effort it took not to give in to the rage running through his blood. 

Instead of succumbing, he focused on protecting the soldiers he guarded. He didn't care that they were scared of him, their yelps reaching his ears. 

These were his people. 

He would keep them safe. 

Under his belly, he heard the soldiers whimpering and shifting. The ones still fighting glanced at him fearfully but kept their backs to him. Obviously they'd decided to accept his aid without question. A few however, yelped and almost broke formation. 

“Don’t move!” one of the men still fighting snapped. “It’s not fighting us!” 

“How the fuck do you know that?” another shouted hysterically.

“Because I have a brain!” the first one retorted. He used a sweeping kick to shoot flames at the combatant that was getting too close. 

Itzal grinned at the banter. If they were feeling well enough to yell at each other, there was a chance that they would make it. 

The battle continued, yet no longer the slaughter that it had once been. With the second battalion forced into the open earlier than planned, the Earth Kingdom army wasn't fighting an already won battle. With Itzal there, the 41st proved harder to take down, while the ambushing force at the rear kept them from escaping. 

Itzal wanted them to retreat; give up the stretch of forest without decimating either forces. However, that didn't seem like either side's plan. 

Despite Itzal protecting his people, he watched more fall. 

He had to come up with something, and fast, to get both sides to back off. 

If he didn't, soon everyone on that side of his wall of fire would keep fighting until they no longer could. The remaining soldiers of the 41st would be okay, which was his goal, yet he knew that it would sit heavily within his heart. 

It would be a victory, yes, but a pyrrhic one.

Although…there might be something.

In one of his mother's old theater scrolls, a dragon had performed something that many experts debated on the historical accuracy of.

But if it were true…

Itzal didn't have any time to think about it more. Sending a quick prayer to Agni, he filled his lungs with air, bellowing out a roar. 

The sound reverberated through the forest, the trees shaking with the force and drawing everyone's attention. 

Still standing guard over the fallen soldiers, Itzal glared at the whole battlefield. Touching his whiskers together over his head, he tried to project to the both armies. 

"The battle is finished," he snarled with his wings flared to make himself appear larger. "You gain nothing by continuing to fight. Gather your dead and leave ." 

With his growling words, he shoved every feeling of go home and stop fighting that he had bottled up. He poured every wish to finally return to familiar lands, to wander the halls of his childhood home. To taste the burning spices that he'd had to give up while banished. To see his mother, his home again. 

Three years was a long time to be longing for something one couldn't return to.

The two armies stared at him, some in bafflement while others were openingly weeping.

Itzal had to wonder what he looked like to garner such looks. By how much pain he was in and the arrows and blood flowing from open wounds, he doubted he looked like something out of a spirit tale. 

He wasn't a spirit, nor was he untouchable.

A silence filled the battle field. Where one moment that was the loud chorus of battle, there now sat an empty void. Just the sound of the remnant of flames crackling, the wind and soft muffled crying dotted the landscape. 

Itzal stood frozen, waiting. 

Watching for who would make the first move. Who would break this stalemate and in what direction would it go. Finally someone moved, Itzal's eyes shot over to look at an earthbender woman, who stood from a crouched position. 

She looked Itzal in the eye, holding his gaze as if trying to find the answer to a question. He didn’t know if she found what she was looking for. 

Either way, she turned to another person on the ground beside her. The soldier was practically a boy, he shook on the ground, tears running down his face as he stared at the dragon before him. 

"Come on, I think it's time we go." The woman said as she reached down to help the boy up. 

When he was on his feet and finally looked at her he started to fully cry as she started to lead him back through the battlefield. To Itzal's relief the firebenders in their path just stepped aside before heading off themselves, back towards their group. After that it was like a wave washed through the gathered soldiers. They started to help each other up and move off. There was still tension as the two sides shifted past each other but as the two sides moved apart a sense of relief settled. 

Some took the time to gather the ones that didn't respond, no doubt bringing them back for a proper funeral.

Itzal watched them go, lessening the force of his telepathic projection gradually. The odd silence persisted once they vanished, and Itzal felt confident enough of their retreat to drop his whiskers. 

Exhaustion hit him abruptly and he would have stumbled if his limbs weren't locked in place. He almost collapsed. His eyes were heavy and every movement was like moving in mud. He was barely aware that his fire wall had dropped, leaving him feeling cold. 

That’s when the noise started up again. Shouting and crumpling bodies filled the air, accompanied by mournful cries and agony laced screaming. 

Itzal almost felt like joining them. 

To save his people, he’d taken hit after hit, and it felt like it. His legs trembled but he forced himself to stay standing. His claws sank into the soil beneath his paws, sticky liquid pooling around his scales. By the bitter tang of copper in the air, he knew he was standing in a puddle of blood. With how much carnage littered the soil, he wasn’t sure if it was his own or not.

Sighing heavily through his nose, the young dragon separated from the soldiers he’d been protecting. As he moved, he did a quick assessment of his injuries. His shoulders throbbed painfully, where he’d taken more than a couple hits. He had at least one arrow sticking out between his scales and he wouldn’t be surprised if a couple of bones were fractured. Sucking in a lungful of air, he counted one or two ribs in the same condition.

His head hurt, and he closed his eyes to ease the pain. Vertigo washed over him and he gave into the temptation to sit down. It didn’t solve all of his problems but he no longer felt like he was going to topple over. 

With his eyes closed, he strained his ears to check for any assailants. Thankfully, no footsteps sounded around him, the soldiers keeping a respectful distance away. With his senses on high alert, he heard when the whispering started. 

The soldiers were awed by him, some wondering if he was a gift sent by Agni.

Itzal ignored them, growing used to the equal amounts of fear and reverence. Honestly, it wasn’t wholly dissimilar to his first few years as Fire Lord. Noone had known yet what kind of leader—what kind of person—he was and were understandably wary. The servants in particular had been fearful of him, having suffered under his father and sister. 

A gentle wind blew over the area, wafting smoke and dirt dust down onto them. The smell of burning human flesh stung Itzals nose. He grimaced at the familiar smell, the scent having long since saturated his nightmares. 

“You’re hurt,” someone commented and Itzal opened his eyes to drag his attention over to the source. One of the soldiers he’d been protecting, a young man without any facial hair, limped closer. 

“So are you,” Itzal huffed, eyeing the precious way he was holding his arm against his chest. 

The soldier frowned, uncomprehending, and Itzal rolled his eyes. Why he even bothered responding, he didn’t know.

“We can heal you; as thanks for your aid,” the boy offered.

Itzal eyed the kid, weighing how much he trusted his word alone with how much pain he was in. Without opposable thumbs, the likelihood of him caring for and cleaning his wounds himself were slim to none. Once he got to Uncle, he knew that the man would heal him. That, however, came with the added challenge of avoiding his younger self. There was no way he would introduce himself to Zuko as a creature that needed aid. 

Before he could decide, however, more shouting arose from within the ranks. Itzal’s ear swiveled towards the sound and he glanced at a commotion approaching. Men and women all wearing more elaborate armour were drawing near, arguing as they did so.

Ah. So the ones in charge were coming to deal with him.

Itzal exhaled heavily. No doubt he'd have to flee soon. 

"Captain Saburo! Don't you dare harm the dragon!" one of the men barked, glaring at another. Both were covered in dirt and ash, sweat tracks running through the grime. Their top knots were still tied on their heads, but they had come loose enough that stay hairs were falling into their faces. 

"It's a bloody dragon; we have orders to attack on sight.”

“Orders that were vague at best and over a hundred years old,” the woman next to the man who’d spoken first snapped. She was just as battle-worn, the corner of her mouth smeared with blood. By the way she stood at the man’s side, Itzal could guess that she was his Lieutenant, the second in command. By the insignia engraved on their belts, he found that these two were the one leading the 41st division.

“They’re still orders. Besides, this one exposed us, drawing the dirt-lickers attention. It deserves to have its head mounted on my wall," the other man growled, a sneer twisting his face.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Itzal bared his teeth in return, but just as a warning. He knew better than to show too much aggression among soldiers whose blood was still warm from a battle. 

" Your wall?" a woman demanded, her eyes narrowing. "We all put our lives on the line today, Captain Saburo. If we were going to claim its life. We each have an equal right to its head. However ," she stressed when  the other captain opened his mouth. "Captain Hideaki is right. It would be dishonourable to repay them that way."

"I also find it curious that you're here," the first man (Hideaki?) cut in. "Given that we were informed that it would be a few more hours until you could reach us." 

Saburo glared, but tellingly didn't say anything. His lips were pressed into a displeased, grim line.

Itzal huffed, the sound more bitter than amused. 

Having received their answer, the woman snarled wordlessly. Disgust and rage burned in the glare she gave the other Captain. 

"We were meant to die," she spat.

"Hanako," Hideaki warned, but it seemed more like a reflex than anything. His face was set in a stony mask.

Chatter broke out among the soldiers nearby. Listening in, Itzal found that a fair chunk were as angry as the woman. 

"On whose orders did this occur?" She demanded. "Yours? Who sent thousands of new recruits—all of them barely of age—out to die as Koh damned bait!"

"Orders must be obeyed," Saburo snapped, gritting his teeth. 

The image of dull amber eyes flashed through Itzals mind and he growled. 

He'd heard enough. 

Heaving himself to his feat, he turned fully towards the captains and their lieutenants. The two from the 41st tensed, but overly didn’t otherwise react. Saburo and his second-in-command fell into stances, fists at the ready. 

Itzal stared at them, unimpressed. Swinging his head back towards Hideaki and Hanako, he jerked his muzzle in a ‘come here’ gesture. Saburo sputtered at being disregarded, but Itzal ignored him. 

Hideaki took the step, approaching Itzal. “Is there something you wish to say?” the soldier asked politely. Itzal gave him points for his tone, acting like he was talking to another one of his men instead of a dragon. 

Nodding, Itzal chuffed. He reached down and pressed a whisker to the man’s brow, ignoring the commotion it caused. Bringing up his memories, Itzal projected two images, the first being General Bujing and the other Fire Lord Ozai on the Dragon Thrown, Agni’s brazzers burning brightly. 

“Is this the truth?” Hideaki demanded when Itzal had withdrawn. 

Sitting back onto his haunches, Itzal conveyed his affirmation. He didn’t fault the captain for doubting his word. He’d certainly fought anyone who’d said anything bad about his father, too afraid of the consequences. 

“Which one of them came up with it?” Hideaki inquired, his tone flat and controlled. “The General?” he added when Itzal didn’t say anything. 

Thankful for a yes or no question, Itzal nodded. 

“The other man just allowed it to happen,” he continued, his hands tightening into fists. “Did no one object?”

Itzal hesitated. His tail flicked as he thought. Someone had , they just hadn’t succeeded in changing anything. Was it worth mentioning? Zuko had agreed to an Agni Kai, willing to fight for their lives but then surrendered shamefully. That was as good as admitting that he was wrong. 

Yet, Itzal didn’t regret standing up for the soldiers. In his time, all of them had died or had been too badly injured to continue their service. 

“Someone tried to, but failed,” Hideaki inferred from his silence. 

Itzal huffed and nodded, inwardly miffed. Was he really that easy to read?

Seeing no reason to hold back, Itzal reached out again, passing the image of his thirteen year old self. He first showed the boy unburned, but then changed it to what he must look like now.

Hideaki swayed back, his face ashen under the war dust. 

"No," he protested, anguished disbelief colouring his tone. "There's no way that happened. He's a child."

Itzal kept eye contact for a moment, unsurprised by his denial. In obvious movements, he swept his gaze around the battlefield then back to Hideaki. 

The Captain followed his lead, looking out at the younger faces intent on their conversation. Itzal saw the moment he understood, the man's shoulders falling. 

"He burned for us?" Hideaki whispered numbly. 

Itzal kept eye contact, not sure how to answer that. It wasn't the first time he'd heard that, the comment coming from a mountain of a man. It was bittersweet, the acidic aftertaste overshadowing any solace it might have brought.

“Enough of this!” someone snarled, snapping Itzal’s attention back into focus. He jerked towards the sound, glaring. 

Hanako had placed herself firmly between Hideaki and the other division, adopting a threatening stance. Saburo was basically chest-to-chest with the smaller woman, glaring down at ther. Despite being a head shorter, she was standing her ground, flames dancing around her hands. 

“Back off!” she roared in his face. Itzal got the distinct impression that she had a particularly feral snarl on her face. 

Clearly, she wasn’t afraid of attacking her countrymen. 

“Hanako!” Hideaki growled, and she froze. Stalking over to the humans, the 41st Captain drew himself up to his full height. He was a tall man, easily towering over the other captain. Glaring down at Saburo, he stood shoulder to shoulder with his second. 

“You’re right, Captain; enough," he said quietly, steel under the deceptively calm voice. "The Dragon is under the protection of the 41st. It saved our lives and it would be dishonorable to repay that kindness by taking its life. You would have to go through me to get to it,” he added when Saburo screwed his face up in a mutinous snarl. 

That made him hesitate, stepping back. “Fine. I’m sure the Generals will be happy to hear about this little…incident.”

“I’m sure they would,” Hideaki agreed, his tone even.

Saburo sneered. Whipping around, he bellowed a retreat, taking his men with him. They scrambled to obey, gathering their wounded. As the other division withdrew, their absence left a strange disquiet. The remaining soldiers of the 41st conveened around Itzal, chatter filling the air. The words were hushed, like they were afraid to encroach on the solemn silence that had blanketed the battlefield. 

Itzal didn’t listen, not wanting to hear the agony his people must be in. Instead, his gaze turned towards a different part of the battlefield. Heart heavy, he slowly made his way over, ignoring the humans that scrambled out of his way. 

His shoulder throbbed and with every step, blood dripped down a hind leg. He pushed on, ignoring the trail he was leaving in his wake. 

It was just blood. He’d lived through worse.

Itzal started to count the dead, each additional number creating a chasm to his heart. Reaching the first body that wasn’t partially buried under stone, he stared down at the woman for a long moment. Lowering his head, he pressed his nose to the fallen soldier's brow. He whispered a prayer, asking for Agni to lead her home. Then, gently, he opened his mouth and picked up her broken body. 

Gasps and alarmed shouts made his ear twitch, but when a wary glance showed that no one was attacking him, he brought the woman over to a bare patch of land. Just as carefully, he laid her down, as neatly as he could. Eyes bore into his side, and he grimaced at the overwhelming sensation of being watched , but he pushed on. Venturing back into the still smoldering battlefield, Itzal gathered another soldier, returning to lay him beside the woman.

He did this over and over, mentally counting each body he gathered. He was around ten when movement caught his attention. 

Wary, he glanced over. His eyes widened when he saw men and women joining him, bending down to gather the dead. Observing them, he noted that the majority of the able bodied soldiers were helping. 

Some were openly weeping, tears streaming down their faces. Others were stone faced; any emotion that they were feeling locked behind smooth masks. Their hands gave them away, however. 

All were shaken, trembling with shock. 

It was painfully obvious this was their first major battle. 

When Itzal found a familiar face, amber eyes staring emptily up at the darkening sky, he stopped. He stood over the body, his gaze flickering over the boy's features. 

He didn't even know his name. 

Gently, he bent and pressed his nose against his forehead too. The soft prayer was thick in his throat, but he recited it anyway. Exhaling heavily, Itzal got the too young soldier up in his jaws and solemnly carried him to be with the other fallen. 

The sun was dipping towards the horizon when Hideaki found him again. 

Himself and those who were helping had gathered most of the dead, those that they could find. At least a quarter of the 41st were missing, the number they’d gathered too low for the amount left alive. 

Itzal doubted that they would find anymore.

The Earth Kingdoms benders did have a habit of burying enemies alive.

Captain Hideaki looked down at the dead, the lines on his face deeper. He couldn't be older than thirty, but weariness added a decade to his features. Itzal could relate, sometimes feeling far older than his own twenty years. 

"Thank you," the man said quietly, not looking at him. "For all that you've done for me and my men."

Itzal almost arched his brow, noting the lack of word about the Fire Nation. It was customary to include their nation when giving thanks to those he helped in the war, stating that they were adding to the glorious expanse. 

Yet Hideaki had kept it out of his gratitude. 

"You didn't have to. After everything that my people have done to yours, I wouldn't have blamed you for turning away. Yet you chose to fight, as well as gather our dead." 

Itzal chuffed bitterly. Between sitting back and watching children die or trying to stop it, there was really no choice. 

"We owe you a life debt—all of us."

Itzal jerked, his eyes widening. He gaped at the human. There was no way he really meant that. Life debts were serious . Those that owned someone one were bound to return the favor, no exceptions. Sometimes that meant pledging their life to their rescuer. 

"That's not necessary," he tried to tell the man, but his growls fell on uncomprehending ears. 

"A private informed me that he'd offered you medical aid," he continued, finally lifting his gaze from the dead. His eyes were a warm brown, borderlining on yellow. “Would you do us the honour of repaying some of our debt?”

Itzal almost made a face at the man. 

He remembered that private, the boy trembling from the pain of his own injuries, but focused on Itzal. He’d been planning to accept anyway, but with how the captain had worded it, he had effectively trapped him.  By saying that Itzal would bring honour to the humans if he accepted, it took the decision out of his hands.  Refusing would snub the one offering hospitality, shaming all of their honour. 

On top of that, he was invoking a life debt .

Itzal narrowed his eyes, appraising the captain in a new light. 

He was crafty. 

The man was taking a gamble, assuming that he fell into the same honour system as the Fire Nation. If he’d tried that with any of the other GAang members, they would be able to back out without any backlash to either party. 

He, however, was Fire Nation and fell into the same rules of hospitality. 

Huffing smoke, he inclined his head in a nod. “I accept your aid,” he told the man, despite knowing it would only sound like growls to the humans. 

Regardless, the captain nodded in turn, understanding his meaning. 

“Come; we have many injured and the dead deserve a proper send off,” the captain said, clasping his hands behind his back and turning away. “We have some carts that we can use to bring them back to our camp.”

Itzal nodded, heaving himself up onto trembling limbs to follow them man. 

Hanako was waiting for them with the rest of the survivors, her face pinched in a sour look. Seeing her captain and the dragon returning, she barked out orders and the remaining troops set to work. 

In quick, practiced movements, all of them started to retreat. It wasn’t a major hike back to their camp, the 41st battalion situated a few clicks down the river from the battlefield. 

Itzal joined the limping march back, careful not to give away how much pain he was in to the ordinary soldiers. He knew for a fact that not everyone was as honourable as the Captain. There was still a chance that someone would get in over their heads and attack him. 

The humans kept a respectful berth from him, which he’d come to expect. The Sun Warriors had been the same way, most of them too reverent to actually try and talk to him. 

Not that he wasn’t used to that. 

As the Fire Lord, or even a Prince before that, people weren’t too keen on starting casual conversations with him. Typically, the ones that sought him out were the ones looking to get something from him. 

Even Aang and the rest of his friends had been like that, only tolerating him because of what he could offer them. He didn’t expect that to change any time soon.

Besides, trying to talk to a dragon was already a futile endeavor due to the language barrier. 

Itzal was content to drag himself along to collapse somewhere he could rest, but those intentions were dashed quickly. The cart loaded with the dead got stuck in the bank, the load too heavy for the soft soil. Not willing to leave the fallen soldiers behind, Itzal looped back, and started pushing from the rear.

The humans yelped and skittered away from him but he ignored them. Whispers begane around him, growing in volume but he was too tired to care. He flicked his ear at the mild annoyance, more interested in getting back to the camp. 

He did, however, catch multiple prayers to Agni. 

Itzal rumbled tiredly, happy that they were able to turn to some form of comfort.

During his exile, sometimes hope was the only thing he had keeping him going. These young men and women would survive if they kept their faith.

Chapter Text

The sun was just barely reaching the horizon, painting the riverside camp the colour of smouldering embers when they reached it. Itzal was alerted to that fact because that’s when the yelling started. Panicked shouts as the personnel left behind rushed out to greet survivors. The cooks, and the medics that had no combat training. More than a few of them started sobbing as they saw the diminished size of the 41st forces’. When they caught sight of Itzal, they almost started screaming. 

Hideaki met their frantic questions with calm ease, skillfully getting everyone on task and giving orders. The captain let the returning soldiers rest since they were obviously relieved to reach safe soil, a number collapsing where they stopped. Hanako weaved swiftly from group to group, getting the people that could help those that couldn’t. The motions were unpracticed, quite a few shook from nerves but together the commanding duo got the camp functioning. 

Those that didn't have jobs stayed where they’d settled on the group, too exhausted to care how hard and cold the earth was. However, those with a little more energy started to talk, trading looks, more than a couple glancing at Itzal. 

Stubbornly ignoring them, Itzal allowed the cart he was pushing to roll to a stop. In the end, there have been three of them, all piled high with their dead. He gazed sorrowfully at the unfair number, an emptiness starting to grow in his chest. Itzal wasn’t unfamiliar with war, having grown up in a war-torn world, despite being a sheltered prince. He knew the horrors, but he didn’t think he’d ever get used to them.

A cold numbness slowly spread, engulfing him.

Turning away from it all, just for a moment, he limped over to an empty patch of ground. His legs buckled underneath him, and he flopped onto silty soil in a controlled fall. Laying his head on the dirt, it was all he could do to just breathe.

For at least six degrees of the sun, maybe more, he'd been constantly moving. He was sore, legs still aching and his wounds throbbed unpleasantly. Once his breathing had calmed, he turned his attention to the humans. 

The camp moved around him, people running back and forth. His ears turned towards the clink of metal as armour was removed. Fires were lit and pots were placed above them. The faint smell of dried spices drifted to him on the wind, and he saw the cooks dumping packets into the pots. 

Something took root in Itzal’s chest and he turned his head to pay more attention to it. Cautiously, he began to see what this meant. The dead lingered in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t discount the number of people moving around him. 

He did it. 

There were survivors. 

Despite his growing elation, relaxing fully was out of the question. Anyone could attack him at any point. However, now that he wasn't being forced to move, his injuries started to throb. 

The captain had offered to heal him, and logically he knew it would be a good idea to wait for them. Yet, he hated relying on anyone.

Running his tongue over his wounds like a cat, he tried to wash out as much dirt as he could. Cleaning around the arrow in his shoulder, he got frustrated with the constant sting. Growling, he caught the wooden shaft between his teeth, gathering his will to just pull it out. He was just about to yank it free when someone screeched. 

“Hey—No! Don’t do that!” someone yelled and he whipped his head around to see a human stalking toward him. Their shoulders were a hard line and their expression was pinched with displeasure. They didn’t look armed, dressed in a non-armored military uniform and a large satchel slung across their torso. However, Itzal hadn’t survived as long as he did by underestimating people.

Itzal snarled a warning, flames flicking around his muzzle.

“None of that,” the human snapped, lashing their hand out lightning quick to bap him on the nose. “Didn’t Hideaki tell you that we would be healing you?” they demanded, tone exasperated. 

Itzal jerked back, affronted. His nose stung from the abrupt assault, tingling unpleasantly. He swiped a paw at his muzzle, trying to get rid of the lingering sensation. Ears folded back, he glared at them.

The human scoffed. "Don't give me that look. You're a dragon, you should know better. Now let me see your injuries." 

More than a little bewildered, he leaned back, allowing the human access to his wounds. They made a satisfied sound in their throat, placing the bag down on the ground beside them. 

“I’ve never worked on a dragon before, so keep that in mind,” they warned him, opening the flap and digging through the first aid equipment packed tightly within. 

Itzal huffed a mock aggravated puff of hot air. Of course they hadn’t; when would they have?

The healer eyed him, their lips set in a stern line. A beat passed before they moved, making their way to Itzal’s shoulder. He let the human come close, laying still as they assessed the arrow embedded there. They clicked their tongue then got to work, breaking the arrow shaft so they could gently work the arrow point out. As they worked, the human started talking, keeping up a steady stream of chatter, informing him of what they were doing. 

Itzal was thankful for their forethought, his muscles releasing some of their tension. He would have stayed still without it, but it was easier when he knew what they were doing. With the arrow out, thankfully with the metal head still attached to the shaft, the healer cleaned it out then covered the wound with a cream before bandanging it. Itzal curled his nose at the bitter smell of anti-infection cream but knew better than to snap at a healer. He’d had wounds become infected too many times to do so. 

His scar throb with dull, sympathetic memory. 

While the healer was still working, Itzal tried to stay still. When the healer started to stitch close the wound on his hind leg, he gritted his teeth and bore the pain. Feeling the string pull through his flesh, Itzal desperately wanted Katara there instead of the fire nation healer. He’d become far too used to the miraculous healing ability she processed. 

Perhapes, he admitted to himself, he’d become spoiled by his friend's ability to make wounds vanish in a timely fashion. 

The crunch of boots over shifting gravel caught his attention and his ears flicked towards the sound. In a smooth motion, he swung his head to pin the approaching soldier with a glare. Itzal stayed stiff and ready to move when he didn’t recognize the young man. The human’s eyes were a little wide and his steps were more akin to nervous shuffles. He couldn’t be older than seventeen, hints of baby fat still on his cheeks. The shaggy goatee at the end of a pointy chin didn’t help him appear older at all. 

The open awe on the boy’s face let Itzal relax a little, but not fully. 

The healer noticed his tenseness while wrapping his hind leg and slapped his scales. “None of that. I can’t do my job if you don’t relax. What’s got you wound up tighter than a randy komodo-cat?” they demanded. 

Itzal flinched at the unexpected touch. It didn’t hurt, but he still snapped around to snarl at the healer. They met his gaze fearlessly, arching a brow. 

“Um, Healer Ren?” the soldier started hesitatingly, but faltered when Itzal turned back to watch him.

“What?” the healer, apparently named Ren, grunted. 

“Ah—Captain Hideaki wanted to know when the d-dragon would be well enough to speak with,” the boy said, stumbling over his species name. His eyes flicked between Itzal and the healer nervously, as if he wasn’t sure who to be more wary of. 

Healer Ren snorted without any respect without being disdainful. “Well Captain Hideaki can wait for my report when I’ve finished tending to the beast. Do you have any idea how hard it is to work on something that we have no idea how to help? Dragons haven’t needed healing in decades! All of the veterinary scrolls that would have told me how in Agni’s name I’m supposed to heal a giant fire-breathing spirit lizard were burned a century ago. I’m basically having to work blind!”

The young soldier leaned away from Ren’s rant, and Itzal almost wished he could do the same. Having to sit through triades was something he was well acquainted with, but he didn’t think he’d ever get comfortable with being the center of someone's ire; directed at him or not.

Itzal chuffed a laugh, however, when Ren’s last sentence clicked. Working blind wasn't that hard, he mused with dull humour. Toph had been doing so for years and didn’t have any problems.

The two humans eyed him funny, probably wondering what he was laughing at. 

Itzal didn’t bother trying to explain. Not like he would have anyway; his Toph was in a different world.

Ren sighed. “Tell our glorious captain that it shouldn’t take more than half a degree. Our friend here is injured, but not as badly as I thought he’d be.”

“Sir,” the soldier saluted quickly and scampered off. 

Itzal watched the boy go. Amusement and nostalgia filled his chest, Itzal reminded of the few younger members of the Wani while he’d been the captain. It wasn’t a warm feeling, instead, it was acidic and burned unpleasantly. He’d been so harsh with his crew, unable to see past his own pain. 

Regret made it hard to swallow, but he pushed it down. 

He could still fix things. After he’d recovered enough, he needed to find his younger self. Zuko was still freshly burned, and probably haven’t terrorized the crew yet into hating him. He needed to show his younger self how sick the Fire Nation was. Its citizens had been fed lies for too long, himself included. They were blinded by their own supposed glory. 

It took Itzal almost starving on the road, at the mercy of the kindness of strangers for him to realize this himself.

Since little Zuko was just that, himself; he knew that the boy was stubborn, and desperately trying to meet an impossible standard. He didn’t want to put his younger self in a similar position, but would if the child wouldn’t open his eyes. 

Itzal glanced out at the people in the camp. His gaze skipped over the soldiers and settled on where Hideaki and Hanako were conversing with others Itzal could only infer were the other higher-ups within the 41st. 

Watching them, Itzal noticed how the man was constantly looking over at his men, worry etched on his face. The care the man was showing his soldiers was fully apparent and Itzal thought it was an admirable trait. When Hideaki reached out to place a comforting hand on another soldier's shoulder, Itzal was abruptly reminded of his Uncle, back when he was a General.

Perhaps that was the key to getting his younger self to listen. He needed to talk to this world's Iroh first. His Uncle had stuck by him for years, despite his bad temper and poor choices. Maybe, between the two of them, they could get little Zuko to see the monster Ozai sooner. 

“There,” Ren’s voice and the slap on his hind drew him out of his own head, “I think that’s all I can do for now.”

Itzal grunted in agreement, shifting slightly to check over what the healer had done. Ren sighed and rubbed their brow. The human looked tired and worn, the stress lines that Itzal hadn’t noticed earlier stark on their younger face. They weren’t a teen, but nor were they middle-aged. 

“Any other aches and pains?” the human asked, turning light brown eyes towards Itzal. 

He didn’t even think before shaking his head. It was a lie, considering his ribs complained every time he took a larger breath. Itzal was still in pain, but most of the injuries he would have worried about had been tended to. Using any more medicine on him would be a waste, not when others needed it far more. 

Ren squinted at him, eyeing Itzal like they didn’t believe that. Apparently finding nothing, the human sighed and bent to scoop up their medical satchel. “If I catch you hiding anything from me, I’ll…” they trailed off, scowling. “I have no idea what I can do to an Agni damned dragon, but I’ll find something.”

Itzal fully believed them, knowing all too well how scary healers could be. 

Ren hummed, the sound unimpressed. They shook their head before walking away. Clearly, they didn’t have time to stick around. 

He watched them go, seeing when another healer got their attention and Ren was hurrying over to help. 

Itzal sighed, ignoring his protesting ribs. Exhaustion was creeping up on him, his vision hazing slightly. He wasn’t losing consciousness but he was too tired to keep them focused. Resting his head on his paws, Itzal closed them. His ears were still pricked so he wouldn’t be snuck up on, but he allowed himself this moment to rest. 

He had no idea when he’d next get the chance to. 

Opening his eyes, Itzal found himself surrounded by mist. Confused, he got to his feet, his ears rotated up, straining them to hear any sign of the 41st. 

Nothing.

There was no shifting of blankets or the rumbling of snores. The sound of rushing water the river should have been making was gone, leaving an empty void in its wake. 

A chill rolled down his spine.

Silence was unnatural. Dangerous. That particular lesson had been drilled into him young and had been the only thing to save him many times over. 

Falling into a crouch, Itzals whiskers twitched. Dragon whiskers were very sensitive, able to sense vibrations in the air. They could be used in the material world, but they were attuned to the spiritual. 

The mist was humming with latent spiritual energy. 

"Truthfully, I did not expect this,” a voice, soft and melodious, with an undercurrent of a rumble, cut through the overwhelming silence, making Itzal jump. He spun, hackles raised but froze when he caught sight of the creature before him. 

Eyes larger than he’d ever seen before stared down at him, backlit by a golden glow. They were set proportionally above a muzzle covered in golden scales, the skin underneath pulsing with an inner fire. Whiskers the size of narrow rivers danced in the still air, while horns towered over the back of its head, twisting into sharp points. The face that everything was attached to took up the expanse around him, framed by mist. Their serpentine neck disappeared into the mist around Itzal, but the impression of a massive body wound around the young dragon. 

 Itzal knew who they were immediately, their mere presence nearly choking him. It was hot, heat radiating from them and it took everything for Itzal not to back away. 

Dropping into a bow, Itzal lowered his head. “Lord Agni,” he greeted around the lump in his throat. 

“Little One,” the Great Spirit returned, the hit of a smile softening his voice. 

Itzal kept his head bowed, truthfully at a loss. He had no idea how to act. He wasn’t the world spirit, able to be disrespectful due to ignorance or position. He was just a mortal. 

“You may rise,” the spirit allowed. 

Hesitantly, he lifted his head. Uncertainty churned thickly in his throat, locking it away. He regarded the Lord of Fire apprehensively. What did a Great Spirit want with him?

The Father of Dragons chuckled, the sound shaking the very air around them, the mist rippling like water in a pond. 

“You’ve caused quite a stir,” Lord Agni said. “We did not expect the Spirit Traveler to be used again, not since the humans that made it fell into obscurity. Too many factors are needed for such a creation to come into play. Yet—here you are.”

Itzal didn’t know what to say to that. He shifted uneasily and kept his tongue locked behind his teeth. 

“Tell me, Little One, what does the future hold that would be so dire to send you back? ”

Itzal blinked. “You don’t know?” he asked, incredulous, before his brain caught up with him and he snapped his mouth shut, eyes wide with horror. 

Lord Agni stared at him for a moment then broke into laughter. “No, Little One. I do not, nor have I ever been gifted with foresight; which is why I’m asking you.”

“Oh, right,” Itzal ducked his head and pawed at his muzzle sheepishly. “Um… there was nothing dire, it was—it was an accident.”

“An accident?” Lord Agni echoed, his tone unreadable.

Itzal squirmed and was quick to recount how he was transported back into the past. The Great Spirit listened intently, his luminous eyes never drifting from him. Finally, when Itzal fell silent, tale done, did the Spirit move. Calmly Agni then prompted him to tell his tale, patiently waiting for him to start. He didn’t like talking about how he’d acted in the past but did as he was told. The Great Spirit's face gave nothing away, watching him stoically until Itzal reached how they’d won the war.

Once Itzal fell silent, neither spoke for what felt like a millennium. Itzal did his best not to fidget under the weight of the Spirit's gaze.

"My sister was killed?” Lord Agni said flatly, a rumbling growl barely held back.

Itzal blinked, unsure who he was talking about until it dawned on him. Tui, the Moon Spirit. He nodded hesitantly. “Yue brought her back, at the cost of her own life,” Itzal offered, even as he winced.

The spirit only hummed, his face unreadable. “I remember that little girl. My sister has always been soft-hearted, it isn’t unusual for her to touch mortals every couple of centuries, caring for those who would otherwise be unable to survive. She is not the first Moon Touched, nor will she be the last.”

Itzal nodded slowly, unsure of what else to do. A silence fell over them as the Great Spirit contemplated everything Itzal had told him. He tried not to fidget, keeping his tail wrapped around his paws.

“This was no accident,” Lord Agni finally stated, jerking Itzal out of his thoughts 

“W-what?”

“The Spirit Traveler cannot be used unless all the Great Spirits agree that such a venture is worthwhile,” he explained, more patient than Itzal would expect for the Patron of Fire. “ Accidental activation or not, those of us that could, decided that it was worth it to wipe the slate clean and start anew.”

“Wipe it clean? Start anew?” Itzal echoed, horror starting to fill his chest. “What do you mean?”

Lord Agni stared down at him, a new tension building within the mist. “I supposed, by activating it without knowing what you were doing, nor would you be aware of the consequences,” the Great Spirit mused. 

“Consequences? What did we do? ” Itzal demanded, his mind conjuring too many horrible outcomes. 

“Traveling through time is not done lightly, Zuko, son of Ursa; Itzal Fènghuáng, ward of Ran and Shaw. It takes a lot of power, more than anyone Spirit is capable of achieving. That is why it must be a unanimous decision. Even then, it is difficult. The energy that is needed is too great—it needs to be born of something that has no metric of measurement. It is the energy of promise, of possibilities, that’s required. And what more could have more unused possibilities than a world that no longer exists?”

Itzal stared at the Spirit, his mind blank. “...what?”

Lord Agni didn’t repeat himself, instead regarding Itzal evenly. He could read nothing off of the Spirits' draconic features. 

Truthfully, he didn’t have to. 

What Lord Agni was alluding to settled over him thickly. It was heavy like volcanic rain and stung with the same burning pain. He swallowed harshly, bile rising. He wanted to deny it, yet couldn’t bring himself to voice them. 

His old world was gone.  

It didn’t change anything, he already knew he could never return, but hearing that the world he’d grown up in no longer existed, hit him differently. He’d taken comfort that they still lived, just in a place he couldn’t access. 

Now, he stood in front of the Great Spirit, helpless, as that comfort was ripped from him. 

“My apologies,” Lord Agni murmured gently. “It was not my intent to cause you grief.”  

“Is everything gone? Even their souls?” Itzal asked, feeling untethered. 

“No,” the Spirit assured quickly. “Their souls are safe. Little One, you didn’t destroy the world; you’re rewriting history. That does not cause it to cease existing. The history you remember cannot be true in tandem with the one you are creating.”

Itzal barely heard him, a wave of pain crashing against his mind. He closed his eyes and bowed his head against the building anguish, trying to block it out. Instead, it only allowed images of those he’s left behind to show themselves. 

Uncle, his age starting to catch up to him but still oh so important. Mai, with her chilly facade that hid her soft and large heart. Aang, Sokka, Toph, Katara and Suki. His mother; everyone he’d encountered within and outside the Fire Nation. 

Gone. 

Hands cupped his cheeks, gently applying enough pressure to force his head back up. He opened his eyes to find himself staying at a human face, their androgynous features framed by golden scales. They looked human, yet, Itzal knew it was anything but. 

For one, they were far larger than what he’d come to expect. Instead of Itzal towering over them, he was the one that was tiny, the size of a komodo-cat in comparison. The hands cupping his face were a little larger than his head, their fingers curling the back of his hand to gently lace into his mane. 

They leaned over him, sitting on their knees, causing the rich fabric of their white robes to pool around them. The silks were decorated lavishly with golden dragon and flower embroidery. The top half of their hair was done up, pulled back into a topknot with an elaborate golden flame hairpin keeping it there. The rest of their midnight hair draped down their back and over their shoulders, pooling into their lap. Their golden eyes glowed with an inner flame, backlighting their irises, just as they did while they took a draconic form. 

"My Dragon,” Agni cooed, “don’t despair. You are not alone.”

Unbidden, a whine rose in his throat, Itzal unable to keep his grief locked within. 

Angi rubbed a thumb over his cheek, his long nail lightly scratching the burned scales. “Your past is gone, yet not all is lost. You are doing well, burning a path that will thrive. Remember; ash-covered earth allows for new life to flourish just as well as good seeds. ”

Itzal woke abruptly, jerking out of sleep and leaping to his feet within seconds. His chest was heaving, and his eyes roamed widely around the army camp. A noise to his left caused his head to snap towards the sound, teeth bared. 

The human froze, still a respectful distance away. Slowly, he lifted his hands in a peaceful gesture. 

“Ah, my apologies for disturbing your rest, My Lord,” Hideaki said, tone apologetic. 

Itzal stared down at the man, fighting to get his breathing under control. Counting his breaths, he brought himself back into a state of calm. He remembered his dream vividly, yet grief threatened to overwhelm him again. However, he would achieve nothing by allowing himself to wallow.

Centering himself, he opened his eyes. Inhaling deeply, he settled onto his stomach again as he looked down at the human. 

Hideaki was regarding him with a furrowed brow. “Are you alright, My Lord?

Itzal clicked his tongue the title, his tail thumping on the ground once. “I’m fine.”

Hideaki blinked at his reaction and his frown deepened. “Did I offend you?”

Resigning himself, Itzal shook his head. He disliked being addressed as such but knew better than to push the issue. 

Shaking his mane out, he crossed his forelegs regally. “What is it?” he asked. 

Hideaki blinked, a slight frown crossing his face. 

Right, language barrier, Itzal chided himself. He was about to bend down and repeat himself telepathically when Hideaki spoke. 

“I have a couple more questions for you, My Lord. Much happened yesterday, a fair number of it less than ideal. I would like all the information I can get before making hasty decisions.”

“R-right, of course,” Itzal muttered to himself, blinking a couple of times. He breathed in deep, wincing at his protesting ribs. Centering himself as much as he could, he nodded at Hideaki to continue. 

“Would you be willing to accompany me or would you rather we hold a debrief here? Either way, I would like my lieutenants present.”

Knowing that a verbal answer would take too long, Itzal got to his feet and jerked his head. Hideaki understood and spun to march into the camp. Itzal took a second to contemplate how he, a dragon, would be willingly venturing into a camp full of humans that have reason to attack him before shaking his head and following.

Chapter Text

The Lieutenants were sitting around a crackling fire, in various stages of wakefulness, when Itzal and Hideaki joined them. A pot of water was boiling on the cooking grate and Itzal spotted a coffee carafe next to it. Breakfast rations were warming on the other half, a few soldiers already eating their share. There were six of them, gender split evenly. 

They were speaking quietly amongst themselves all of them fell silent to watch the dragon approach. Itzal didn’t hide his own stares, gaze jumping from one to the next. All of them were too damn young. One was not even old enough to be considered an adult, her baby fat still rounding out her face. She was also the most nervous, fingers laced tightly in her lap. She and another were the only two to not have a Lieutenant badge attached to their uniform. 

Their predecessors must have died, Itzal realized, forcing them to receive a field promotion. 

No words were spoken as Hideaki sat on the one tree stump left, next to a large gap in the seating arrangement. Assuming that it was for him, Itzal settled between Hideaki and an unknown Lieutenant, settling on his belly so they didn’t have to tilt their heads so far back to look at him. He tucked his front legs underneath him and wrapped his tail against his body. Hopefully, adopting such a vulnerable position would put them at ease. 

It seemed to, the one soldier who had straightened and tensed tighter than a strung bow allowed his shoulders to relax a fraction. 

“Is the coffee ready yet?” one of the soldiers asked, breaking the tense silence that had befallen the group. He was bent over, his cheek leaning heavily on a propped-up fist while his elbows rested on his knees, eyes barely open and hazy with sleep. 

“Takashi,” the woman next to him hissed as Itzal snorted, not expecting that. 

“What?” the sleepy soldier snapped. “It's stupid o’clock in the morning and excuse me for not being a firebender. I don’t wake with the bloody sun like you lot.”

Itzal blinked at that tidbit of information, looking at the man a little more closely. He was right, he couldn’t sense any hint of a firebenders inner fire. Yes, there was a spark in his chest, but Itzal had seen that in every human he’d encountered. He was starting to suspect that they all had one, the Gift from Agni that brought them to life. Added to that was the bow and quiver resting on the ground beside his stump-chair. He must be the lieutenant in charge of the ranged battalions. 

The woman rolled her eyes but leaned forwards and off of her own make-shift chair to snatch the carafe. “Here,” she grunted, thrusting it at the man.

“Thanks ever so,” he said sweetly, and started drinking right from the carafe. 

Itzal stared; expecting him to pour it into the mug at his feet. He thought that the other lieutenants would complain or take it from him, but a quick glance around showed the opposite. Two were shaking their heads fondly and the others were ignoring him. Hideaki’s face was completely blank, unsurprised. 

Alright then.

Hideaki didn’t waste anymore time and launched into the meeting. The other soldiers listened intently—even the coffee drinker—as they reported their status. For the most part, the injured were being taken care of but they had lost a couple during the night. The overall casualty number was staggeringly high, just as Itzal expected it to be. 

“At least we have plenty of supplies now,” one of the boys joked, his face twisted into a grim smile. The younger girl sent him a glare while Hanako snorted. 

“There is that,” she agreed dryly. “More than half of our force is gone but at least we can eat well.”

“How can you say that!” the younger female officer burst out. “People are dead and you're making jokes?!”

“What else are we supposed to do?” the boy that had joked snapped back, all humor whipped from his face. “Are we supposed to wallow in our misery? You can do that all you want but I refuse to.”

“That’s because you’re a lizard-hearted ba—” she snarled.

“Lieutenant Chihiro, Lieutenant Katsu—enough,” Hideaki cut in, his tone hard and non-negotiable. “Chihiro, not everyone copes the same way; yes he’s being more crass then normal, but if it keeps him going I’m not going to make him stop. However, ” he added, turning his attention to the boy, who must be Katsu, “there is a limit. Learn it, and don’t push past it; understood?”

“Understood, sir,” the two teens grumbled, bowing their heads. 

Hideaki nodded, curt. “Katsu does have a point. Before this battle we’ve been given the bare minimum of food. Now, we have more than enough to last us well past the next scheduled shipment.” The Captain sighed heavily, the weight of the Division visually showing on his face. His gaze drifted around the seated soldiers before he paused, his eyes widening slightly before he glanced at Itzal.

Itzal raised his unburned brow, wondering what he thought of.

“Our low supplies,” he started hesitantly, “was that also…?”

Itzal didn’t immediately follow what he was trying to ask, but then it clicked. ‘Were we purposely sent less food because we were supposed to die?’

He’d never thought of that before, but he wouldn’t put it past Ozai or General Bujing to pull something like that. They’d given the order, so the 41st were already dead. 

Itzal shrugged his wings then nodded. 

“What are you talking about?” Coffee guy demanded, lowering the carafe to cradle it in his lap. 

Hanako shot Hideaki a look, her lips pressed into a firm line. Hideaki didn’t look at her but he seemed to know it was there, his fingers twitching towards her. Itzal was unsure if it was supposed to be dismissive or comforting. Either way, Hanako didn't lose her displeased look. 

“I’m sure word of my…conversation with Captain Saburo regarding our friend here has already spread,” he started, inclining his head towards Itzal, earning chuckles from more than one. “The dragon told me who ordered this fruitless attack.”

“Call it what it is, Hideaki,” Hanako said darkly, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “It was a massacre, plain and simple. We were sent to die.” Murmurs of agreement and distress broke out among the Lieutenants, their faces twisted with rage and sorrow. 

“Regardless of wording,” Hideaki continued, sending his second in command a look, “I've been informed that Fire Lord Ozai ordered us to waste our lives as bait.”

Shocked outcries rose, and more than one started swearing loudly. Emotions sprang to the surface. Their disbelief and denial were like looking in a broken mirror. Quickly, spit curses and demands morphed into anger and hate. Those feelings were all to familiar to Itzal, having been a slave to them for too long. 

"How do you even know this," the final male soldier demanded, speaking for the first time. The glare he was shooting his captain was a smoldering pit of barely held back fire. 

Hideaki sighed. "The Dragon told me," he said simply. 

"And you trust its word? Those things have every motive to want to lead us astray. The Fire Lord is above us, appointed by Agni himself. Why should we trust the word of a mortal lizard?"

Itzal scoffed loudly, his lip curling before he could push the reaction down. 

Ozai? Chosen by Agni? 

HA.

The angry soldier heard the sound and whipped his head towards him. "What? Upset that I'm exposing your lies?"

No, I'm astounded by your stupidity, Itzal shot back mentaly but knew better than to respond verbally. He'd learned that lesson in the first year as Fire Lord. It took him longer than he'd admit, but Mai finally got it through his thick head not to give hecklers more ammunition.

Hanako scoffed. "I knew you were a dumbass, Masao, but I didn't think you were this much of one."

"What did you just say?" The angry soldier growled, his muscles taunt as his fingers curled into fists. Smoke started to softly billow from his knuckles.

Hanako met his enraged gaze squarely. "You heard me. You're a dumbass if you think this dragon is lying."

"What makes you say that?" The unnamed female asked, but she sounded curious instead of angry. 

"He gathered our dead," Hanako stated bluntly. "He even mourned them. That's not normal. At all. But he did it. Would something that's trying to deceive us take the time to do shit like that? No," she answered for them, crossing her arms over her chest with a sense of finality.

Masao(?) obviously didn't agree. He leaned forwards, his lip curled in disgust. "They would if they're trying to lull someone into a false sense of security," he spat.

"You're one paranoid bastard, aren't you?" Hanako sneered. 

"And you're a feral bitch."

"Enough," Hideaki cut in, clearly done with allowing them to squabble. All of the lieutenants fell silent, although Masao gritted his teeth mutinously. Hideaki stared the younger soldier down, never wavering until Masao looked away with a scoff.

The Captain gave a curt hum of approval. When no one else gave a hint of disagreement, he turned to Itzal. "Can you show them what you showed me?"

Itzal blinked, a bit taken aback at being addressed. "Uh, sure," he mumbled and extended his whiskers. He reached to lay them across all seven of their laps, so that he would only have to do this once. A few Lieutenants flinched away from him but at Hideaki's assurance, they stayed still as he projected images into their heads. He went into more detail then before, able to picture the beginning of the worst day in his life more reliably now that he was off an active battlefield. 

He showed them the map that the Generals had been seated around, little pieces placed accurately across the parchment like it was nothing more than a strategy game. He showed them the pieces that indicated the 41st being pushed to Omashu, only to be blocked by the Earth Kingdom. Then in a series of snapshots, he tried to show General Bujing proposing his plan. Then Ozais' thoughtful face behind the curtain of fire. He wasn't sure how successful he was, considering he couldn't give them spoken words. It had to do. 

That done, he withdrew. 

The Lieutenants were trembling with repressed emotion, their faces conflicted. 

"That's the one?" Hanako demanded harshly, her voice a dark rumbling growl. "That's the one that sent children to their deaths?" 

Itzal met her furious gaze squarely. He nodded. 

She snarled and leapt to her feet, beginning to pace back and forth like a caged tigerdillo. "He deserves to die. He deserves to have teeth rip out his throat."

No one, not even Hideaki, voiced any disagreement. Masoa looked down, his fists curled so tightly his knuckles were white. 

"How do you know this?" The unnamed woman asked, her voice flat and emotionless. 

Good question, Itzal inwardly winced. It's not like he could say he was there. Sure, it had been true in one lifetime, but not this one. Waying his chances, he glanced at the rising sun.

"No," someone said and Itzal jerked at the unexpected reaction. Glancing at the speaker, he stared at the wide eyes of Coffee Guy. "Are you saying Agni himself sent you?"

Itzal blinked dumbly at him. Well he's not exactly wrong. Although, he should be more aware of his actions now that people will be relying on them to understand him.

Taking advantage of the best explanation being given to him, he nodded.

Chatter broke out among the soldiers again, even Hideaki looking at him with something akin to awe. Hanako returned to her seat, watching Itzal with renewed interest.

"This is a load of komodo-rhino shit ," Masao snarled, looking ready to leap off of his log and attack him. 

Itzal stared him down, unimpressed. Lowering his head slightly, he cocked it to the side, challenging.

"Can you prove it?" Katsu interrupted their staring match, the teen leaning forwards, his eyes bright. A sharp grin stretched across his face, edging on the friendly side of a threat. 

Itzal snorted, unfurling his whiskers again. Once he was sure he would project to all of them, he let the images flow through his connection to them. First, he showed them what could have been, the pages upon pages of death notices that his father had sent him. A brutal reminder of his failure. Some of the names he recognized, both from then and now, when he had faces to put to them. 

Then, without mercy, he switched to his dream, showing them the visage of the Great Spirit. The golden dragon glowed with obvious divine essence, power rippling from them.

The humans gasped and Itzal ripped his whiskers away, unsympathetic to how they shook. Masao was pale and shaking, all traces of contempt whipped from his face. Chihiro was bent over, her head in her hands, her fingers tangling into her hairline. It wasn’t obvious, but he knew she was crying, the trembling of her shoulders belying her grief. Coffee guy, (didn't the other woman call him Takashi or something) was knocking back the last of his coffee like he wanted it to be something stronger. The others weren’t much better. 

Silence fell over them, and Itzal let it be. He sat back, his whiskers coming back to hover around his body. He didn’t dare disturb the contemplative mourning that the group had fallen into. He knew exactly what it felt like, and he knew they needed time to come to grips with something that had taken him years. 

That the Fire Lord, who was supposed to keep the Fire Nation's best interest at heart at all time, couldn’t care less about the people that inhibit it. 

Granted, it was different being the man’s literal son , but he understood the anger and helplessness that it induced. It must have been just as frustrating being an average citizen, forced to swear fealty to a man who viewed them as less than insects. While hiding behind the walls of Ba Sing Se, it was infuriating to witness the poor conditions that the King had seemingly let his people suffer in. It just barely overshadowed the contempt he’d felt once he learned that Kuei had been ignorant instead of complacent. It was a bit hypocritical, he knew, but if he forgave the boy-king's situation he’d have to do the same for himself, which was something he wasn’t quite ready for. 

"If Agni told you to stop this," the unnamed woman started, cutting through the solemn silence, "something our Fire Lord commanded; does this mean Agni doesn't favor Fire Lord Ozai?" 

Itzal startled out of his thoughts, not expecting that. He perked up, nodding earnestly. 

"So our Fire Lord is a false one?" Masao spat, a fury building behind his eyes. 

Itzal nodded again. 

"Well that's just lovely ," Hanako said creerily, her smile sharp. "How did he get it then?"

The other soldiers exchanged looks, shrugging when they didn't have any input. 

Itzal ignored them, looking down at the firelight. By using his wife to murder his own father, Itzal answered mentally. It was pathetic really, he mused to himself. His father didn't even earn the throne with his own hands. He'd had to get his wife to do it for him. 

The only thing Itzal could remember his father accomplishing by himself was giving him his burn and exiling his 13 year old self with the cruel comfort of an impossible task. 

The sound of skin scraping over stubble drew his attention and he blinked out of his thoughts to glance at Hideaki. 

“What’s done is done,” the Captain said, a knuckle pressed thoughtfully to his chin. “The question now is; how do we proceed?”

“Why bother?” Katsu said, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “We’re as good as dead.”

It was telling when no one immediately objected. 

“There must be something. Agni would not have sent the dragon to us unless there was something ,” Chihiro insisted, glancing around at the other lieutenants before looking at Itzal. 

Itzal forced himself to meet her gaze squarely, despite his scales shivering unpleasantly at her soundless plea. His gut churned with guilt.

This is what he got for lying. 

Itzal had Agni’s blessing, yes, but he was acting on his own will.

Was he just giving them false hope? Had everything he’d done since arriving in this world just make it worse? What if they were right? What if saving them doomed these children to a far worse fate?

“Maybe sometimes it's just better to call it quits before you fail.”

Sokka’s voice rang in the back of Zuko’s mind, and he almost scoffed at himself. 

No. 

His answer was the same now as it was then, standing in the middle of a boiling lake, facing similarly unbeatable odds. 

He couldn’t give up just because he was afraid of failure. 

Even if he was alone now, and hadn't been for a long time, it wasn’t something he was unused to. He’d survived before, he could survive now. 

Zu—Itzal bent forwards, lowering his head so he was on the same level as the two teens. Once both of them were looking at him, he shook his head, offering one of his whiskers to them. They hesitated, then wrapped their hands around it. 

“You can’t give up,” he sent, pushing as much of his faith and assurance towards them as he could. He didn’t know if the empathetic exchange would work since they weren’t dragons, but he had to try. “You have to keep going. You might fail, but you also might earn something far more worthwhile.”

Chihiro sniffed and nodded, reaching up to wipe a tear from her cheek. Katsu ducked his head and let him go, but Itzal knew he got the message as well. 

Withdrawing, he sought out Hideaki. The captain held still as Itzal reached from him, conveying a plan he was making up as he went. Once he was finished, he withdrew, letting the captain decide. 

Hideaki shot him a look, conveying how much he thought of his plan but tellingly didn’t shoot it down right away. He crossed one arm over his chest and covered his mouth with his other palm. 

“Sir?” Hanako prompted when he didn’t say anything right away.

“Our friend here has a suggestion,” the older man said in lieu of an answer. “However, I’m not sure how many will like it.”

“Can’t be worse than our current situation,” the unnamed woman said, a bite to her voice.

Hideaki dipped his chin downwards, acknowledging her point.

“Not everyone will be able to, but desertion is an option.” Hideaki held up a hand, staving off the initial objections. “Listen first. There is a way, but those that choose to leave will have to get used to being legally dead in the eyes of the Fire Nation.”

“What,” Takashi deadpanned, his expression unimpressed. 

“How many dead were we able to retrieve?” Hideaki asked in response. His eyes narrowed as his gaze sweep over them. The teens looked down, Chihiro wrapping her arms around her torso in a self-hug. “Nowhere near enough. There are hundreds of bodies we won’t be able to send back to their families. All we have to do is increase that number.”

Understanding slowly dawned on the faces of the young men and women sitting around the dwindling fire. They exchanged disbelieving, yet tentatively hopeful looks. 

“We’re going to disappear, right under their noses,” Hanako summed up, a grin slowly spreading across her face. She barked a laugh, leaning forwards in anticipation. Her leg was bouncing, clearly too excited to sit still. “If those bastards in Caldera can condemn us without a thought, we can do the same to them.” 

Itzal nodded, his tail thumping on the ground. It wasn’t that simple, he knew, but her energy was infectious. 

She grinned wolfishly in response, her teeth bared in a vicious smirk. “I like you. You’re alright—for a big scaly lizard.”

Itzal shot her a glare and sneezed a puff of fire. It was too cold to burn anyone, but it made Hanako bark another laugh.

“Oh Spirits, no,” Takashi muttered, covering his face with his hands. The woman next to him snorted her own laugh, shaking her head with an air of incredulity. The two teens glanced around at the gathered soldiers, tentative smiles growing. Masao didn’t seem as happy with the idea of deserting as everyone else, but nor did he say anything. 

It was a start. 

The rest of the morning passed in solemn rest. It didn’t seem like many of the soldiers were in the mood to be too productive. Itzal couldn’t blame them, watching how many were crying and mourning the fallen. The most that the survivors could do was sit up and converse quietly. The cooks and medics were the only ones more active, getting breakfast ready and tending to the wounded. 

One ear always angled so he could keep track of everyone, he heard the medics saying that they had lost more during the night. It was disheartening, but not unexpected. Itzal bowed his head, berating himself for not being better. If he hadn’t taken so many hits, Doctor Ren could have used the medicine on someone else instead of him. 

Itzal sighed, glancing up at the mid-morning sun. 

He should move on. There was very little he could do for them now. His injuries were already mostly healed, thanks to Doctor Ren’s expertise, but Itzal was beginning to suspect that dragons' recovery rate was quicker than humans. He barely felt any of the aches from the night before. Breathing deeply, his ribs didn’t have the same sharp pain and he exhaled easily. 

Since he’d missed his morning meditation, Itzal started it then, cupping his paws and creating a tiny flame. Closing his eyes, he soaked in the warmth from the sun, his breath regulating into soft, measured breaths. His inner flame pulsed warmly with his inhales, soothing him. 

Half a degree passed, allowing calmness to settle over his mind, slowing everything down. He was completely relaxed when he felt someone approaching. Expecting Hideaki, he was startled to look down at and see Hanako looking up at him. 

“Yes?” he inquired, tilting his head quizzically.  

“That’s a pretty flame,” she started, her eyes darting down. Following her gaze, he realized that the small fire between his paws was gold, flickering with different colours. He let it go out, nodding. Hanako snorted, sharking her head before looking back up at him and planting her hands on her hips. 

“Some of us will have to stay behind,” Hanako stated, getting right to the point. Itzal was starting to suspect that was normal for her. 

Itzal dipped his head in a nod, wondering where she was going with this. 

Her lips pressed into a firm line, unsurprised but clearly unhappy. “Hideaki will stay.”

Itzal arched his brow. “You’re very certain of that.”

Hanako squinted at him. “I’m guessing those growls meant something but I didn’t understand any of it.”

Itzal rolled his eyes and lifted a paw in a ‘get one with it’ motion. 

The soldier snorted, her lips pulling to the side in a half smile before it dropped. “Hideaki cares too much,” she started, moving her arms so they were crossed defensively over her chest. Her under-armour that she wore was worn and sooty, but she didn’t seem to care that she was half dressed. “He’s not going to abandon anyone to those bastards in Caldera without going with them. Besides, Captain Saburo saw both of us alive and kicking yesterday.”

Itzal watched her, eyes narrowed. What was she getting at?

Hanako squinted at him, sighing when he didn’t say anything. “Even if that bastard hadn’t seen us, I’m not going to abandon him. We’re both going to stay behind to make sure that the others survive. Even if it kills us in the long run,” she added, her expression tightening. 

Itzal listened silently, unable to add anything. Even if he could have spoken freely with her, he didn’t have anything to say. She was right, staying was potentially more dangerous than running.

“What I'm trying to get at,” she said, shifting her weight so she was balanced. Muscles tensed and arms dropping to her side, she looked ready to attack anything that looked at her wrongly. “Is there any way we can get out of this alive? Agni sent you to us—he’s been silent for so long. There must be something.”

Itzal stared down at her, dread dripping down his throat to pool in his belly. 

Her frustration was very familiar, and it felt like he was looking in a mirror. How could he tell her that there wasn’t anything? That he was making things up on the fly, hoping that they work?

Unwilling to leave her with silence, he took a deep breath and resigned himself. Reaching a whisker out towards her, he pressed the tip to her temple. Hanako closed her eyes, almost learning into the touch as he projected his message, characters writing themself onto a mental parchment. 

“The Fire Nation is wrong,” he told her. “Lord Agni knows this. We’re not glorious like we’re led to believe. The other nations are just as important as fire, they all deserve to live without war. So do we. Just try and survive. Do as little as you can get away with.”

Hanako reached up and held his whisker to her temple. Her eyes were firm and sharp as she glared at him. “That’s it? Try and survive?”

Itzal glared at her and wiped his mental parchment free of ink. “What more do you need? Agni doesn't decide what we do, and he never has. He can only guide us. We create our own destiny,” he wrote, his heart squeezing painfully. That was a lesson that he’d learned far too late.

 Hanako growled low in her throat before relenting. “Fine.” She clearly wasn’t happy but nor was she going to argue.

Empathy clawing at him, Itzal continued, “There is good you can do from within.”

“Yeah?” she challenged, but there was a hint of desperation hidden behind her gruff tone.

“Spread the word, tell others what happened here. Be cautious, only trust those you think will follow. The Fire Nation is sick, and we need to cure it.”

“Sick how?”

Itzal blinked, realizing he could do more for these soldiers then just save them. Eagerly, he cleared the parchment again and continued, “We’ve forgotten who we are. We’ve lost the truth about fire.”

Hanako blinked, clearly not expecting that.

“What do you use when you bend?” he asked, lowering his head so he was closer to her eye level. 

She squinted at him. “Anger. What, is there a different way?”

Itzal nodded. “That’s why the Fire Nation is sick. We’re not supposed to be angry. We’re not supposed to rely on hate and negativity. Fire is life. Fire is passion. Bending with anger is like eating sweets all day—it’s easy and it gives us a rush but it will only lead to a bellyache.”

Hanako blinked, her eyes wide. “Fire is life?” she whispered, a hint of uncertainty with a thread of hope weaving through it. 

Itzal nodded, shifting around so she could clearly see his paws while still keeping his whisker in her grip. “Yes. Watch,” he instructed, creating a flame between his claws. It grew quickly, the golden spark growing into a steady fire. Remembering his lessons from Ran and Shaw, he started a familiar tale, falling easily into the role of storyteller. He wasn’t naturally gifted like Sokka and Katara, but he would recite stories with ease.

“Bhudevi, the Great Spirit of Earth, created our bodies with clay, molding us into the shape we wear now,” he mentally wrote, showing painted pictures of the Spirits that the Sun Warriors had allowed him to see. “Agni, Spirit of Fire, sparked life into the empty shells, giving us warmth and life. Vayu of the Great Winds gave us freedom, breathing movement into our being. Tui and La, the Spirits of the Moon and Ocean gifted us thought and our ability to care about each other. Together, they made humans into what they are today. We would not be who we are without every spirit working together,” he told Hanako, his lips pulling back into a fanged smile at her teary expression. “We’re more than our anger,” he added gently. “We’re life.” 

Hanako nodded, pressing her lips into a line as a tear dripped down her cheek. She breathed in shakily, overwhelmed. 

He understood, having experienced it himself. It was a lot to take, and it made you feel so small. It was also the exact opposite to what children of the Fire Nation were taught. Even the other nations had lost this knowledge, fading into obscurity due to time. 

“Take some of my flame,” he instructed her, making her jump. She stared at him with something close to panic. He nodded encouragingly. 

Tentatively, the young woman squatted down, her gaze flicking up uncertainly at his face. She suddenly looked far younger than he’d seen before, and it was apparent that she was barely older than the other children in the 41st division. She was so gruff and commanding that it made it easy to forget. 

She reached out, putting her hands into his golden fire. She choked on a sob, stubbornly smothering it as she sat back on her haunches, a soft golden flame hovering above her palm. 

“It’s a baby,” she whispered, staring down at it. “I can feel its heartbeat.”

Itzal rumbled his agreement, warm and content. 

“Remember that feeling,” he wrote. “That’s the true nature of fire bending.”

She nodded, sniffing. Gulping a breath, she slowly breathed with it before watching it diminish until it had been snuffed out. More tears dripped down her cheeks and she whipped them away. 

Itzal blinked, impressed. Too many fire benders only wanted to burn, unwilling to learn how to put out the fires that they’ve made. It took a wise mind and a strong will to voluntarily snuff out their own fires. 

Hanako curled her hands towards her chest, bending over them.

Itzal allowed the woman her moment of silence. It lasted for a fraction of time before she whipped her face clear and looked up at him again. 

Free to continue, he did, “Sozin was misguided. His way of bending is good for fighting, yes, but it sacrifices so much else. It’s time we change that. Can you do that?”

She nodded, standing straight with her shoulders pushed back. “I’ll make sure Captain Hideaki knows,” she promised. 

Itzal grinned, his full mouth of teeth on display.

As the sun dipped towards the western horizon, Itzal stood in the river, watching it sink. Night would fall soon, allowing Tui’s light to paint the world silver. He’d spent too long with the 41st, making sure they weren’t attacked while they were recovering. It was time to move on. 

He looked back at the bank, where Hideaki and Hanako were standing. The woman was back to normal, any traces of tears gone from her face as she watched. Noticing his attention, she gave him a determined nod. 

He returned the gesture. 

“Is there anything more we can do for you?” Hideaki asked.

Itzal shook his head, slothing through the surf to join them on the bank. He shook his whole body and flapped his wings a couple of times. 

“Where will you go?” the Captain asked. 

“To find my idiot younger self,” Itzal said, looking towards the north. If he was remembering correctly, Zuko would have already searched the Western Air Temple for the Avatar, and would be sailing around the coast to find the Northern one. Itzal knew he would find nothing worthwhile there, but his younger self would be driven to seek something that was impossible. 

And would be for another three years. 

He was only setting himself up for disappointment. 

Itzal had to help him see how much of a foolish quest it was, and guide him home. Not to the Fire Nation, but back to family. Back to Uncle. Back to himself. 

He couldn’t do that with the 41st.

Returning his gaze to the humans, he saw acceptance in their eyes. 

“We’ll be fine,” Hideaki assured him. “We’ll survive. Spirits willing, we will meet again.”

Itzal smiled, dipping his head into a bow. They turned the gesture but Itzal was already backing away from them. Crouching low, he lept, wings beating heavily. Quickly, he rose into the air, climbing to an altitude far above the land below. 

Angling his wings, he headed north.

Chapter Text

Finding the Wani was proving itself to be harder than Itzal had thought it would be. One small, rust bucket of a ship off the coast of the Northern Earth Kingdom continent should not be so hard to spot. Yet, here he was, two days since leaving the 41st and with nothing to show for it. 

Itzal followed the Great Divide and the Pohuai River all the way to the sea, hoping to see Zuko's ship outside of the delta but of course, his luck would not hold. The waters were empty, leaving him with a choice to make. Go east, and towards the Northern Air Temple, assuming he missed them, or go west, following the coast to intersect the Wani's path? Or stay where he was?

Every path had its own disadvantages. 

He deliberated each option, his whiskers twitching before he angled himself West. Even if he didn’t find little Zuko, he could check to see if the villagers were talking about The Banished Prince. They typically didn’t while he was there, but if he needed to sneak back into the village for one reason or another, they would always be talking about him. 

Either way, be it yes or no, he would get his answer. 

The first village was the Fire Nation resort town that Uncle and he had stopped at after the Siege of the North. He eyed the place in distaste, not feeling particularly charitable to the memories that it brought up. After two weeks of starving on a raft, a spa day had been needed, but it was also the place where he fell for Azula’s tricks. 

Even after three years away, he’d been so quick to believe that Ozai would want him back. 

Shame filled his chest, burning bitterly at the fact that he’d been so gullible. 

Azula always lies.

He knew his sister. Azula had been viciously silver-tongued before he was banished; why would three years alone with their father change anything?

Itzal sighed heavily, angling low to the water and landing in the trees a fair distance from the village. 

Azula. The last time he’d seen his sister she’d been locked behind bars, staring emptily out the window. Every attempt to help her, every attempt to mend their relationship, fell on deaf ears. Some days he’d wonder if she was even still in there. 

Ozai had damaged them both, but he’d succeeded in breaking his sister. 

She had just hidden it better. Until she couldn’t.

Looking at the town through the trees, he let his mind wander. If his younger self was thirteen, she would be eleven. 

A child. 

At that age, he had to wonder; was it already too late to save her?

Itzal pushed that thought to the side and sneaked closer to the village. With the sun out and being far larger than his human, younger self, it was harder to get close enough to the village to eavesdrop. However, he pulled it off, slipping into the water and hiding in the shadows of the dock. Staying under the wooden walkway, his head just above the water, he listened to the comings and goings of the village. 

Thankfully, a shipment was being delivered so he had a lot to listen to. Less fortunate was the fact that no one was talking about the Banished Royal. Itzal groaned quietly, resting his head against a dock post. It would have been a lot easier if Zuko had already passed but apparently not. 

Resigning himself to flying further west, he was just about to dive under the water again when he caught another conversation thread. 

“—wiped out? How could a Fire Nation battalion be wiped out?” someone was asking furiously. 

Itzal froze and looked up between the wooden dock planks. Three shadows darkened the area above him, a group of workers resting on crates. The faint smell of smoked fish and rice drifted to his nose over the brine of the ocean. One of the people above him was a firebender because the smell was distinctly warm. There was a slosh of liquid in a small vessel before any of them spoke again.

“Fuck if I know,” another voice answered, his tone crabby. “I’m just sayin' what I’ve heard. I ain’t tellin’ ya to believe me.” He had a thick, rolling accent, one that he knew came from the colonies. It was also a common one you’d find with sailors. That and the pension to swear every few words. 

Uncle had not been impressed that Itzal had picked up that particular habit. Nor had the Royal Court. Imagine that, a bunch of stuffy nobles not liking their already disliked, half-wild, teenage Fire Lord swearing. It was such a shock to their delicate upbringing. He’d gotten more than one lecture that it was uncouth to be so crude. He listened only because it made his job easier to curb his tongue then argue with them.

“It's not that unheard of,” a third voice broke in. “We don't always win a battle.”

“Yeah, but the Fire Nation doesn't lose ,” the first person said. Their accent was more polished and something you would hear in or around Caldera. 

“Well they did,” the third retorted. “The only reason they survived at all was apparently because Agni sent a dragon to help.”

“That’s not possible.”

“We ain’t trying to pull yar leg—fuckin’ hell,” the second commented, and there was a grunt and a thump as something was moved around. “What use would that be, anyway?”

The first man didn’t say anything to that and the third spoke again. “They’ve been calling it ‘Agni’s Dragon’. Some people are saying that it's come to help end the war.”

“If you believe that, then you are truly gullible.”

Itzal didn’t stick around after that, diving below the water and swimming out of sight of the town. Pulling himself out and onto an empty bank, he shook the water off. 

Had word of him really spread that quickly? It had only been a few days since he left the 41st. 

Either way, Itzal no longer had the luxury of anonymity. 

People were aware of him; he had to take that into account. 

In the end, his behaviour didn't change that much. He knew the power of rumours and loose lips—Aang and your very obvious flying bison—he just had to make sure people didn't have anything to talk about. 

The next day, Itzal found them. Seeing the small, rust-bucket of a ship docked in the next town over was surreal and left an odd feeling in his chest. For three years, the Wani had been his prison.

He'd hated it. It was small, there were people everywhere even if they technically had been understaffed, forcing everyone to take on more than one job. 

Yet…

While banished, it was the only place he could freely move without fear of enemies coming at him from all sides. It was safe . A place he didn’t have to be constantly looking over his shoulder. Sure, he hadn’t gotten along with everyone all the time, but that had been normal even in Caldera. 

And, looking back at his time on the sea, it was the closest to a home that he’d had since his mother disappeared. Sure, it lacked the comforts he’d grown up with, but Uncle had stayed with him and the crew had grown to tolerate him. 

It had hurt when Zhao had taken his crew, just after Itzal had finally managed to start a more friendly rapport with them. On top of it all, it had blown up, with him still on it. The physical pain hadn’t been the only one that had knocked him onto his ass. He’d refused to admit it, but losing the Wani had almost been as bad as learning of his exile all over again. 

Itzal refused to allow Zuko to go through the same heartache. 

Ducking between the trees of the nearby forest, Itzal kept low to the ground so he wouldn’t be seen. Pricking his ears, he searched for the sound of his Uncle’s voice. 

When he found it, his breath caught in his throat. The older man's voice was soft and rolling like gentle waves on a beach. Itzal couldn't stop a mournful cry from escaping him. 

It had only been a few months but Itzal had missed Uncle so much . 

"—you sure? Jasmine tea is very calming," the man was saying.

"No," came the gruff, short answer. Itzal almost jumped out of his scales when he registered it. It was his voice but higher than he was used to hearing. It still had the raspy quality that he knew he would never lose, throat permanently damaged by smoke inhalation and screaming.

There was a heavy exhale of air as his Uncle sighed. "Alright, Prince Zuko, but I'm sure it would help you."

"I don't need any help."

Itzal rolled his eyes at that response, grumbling under his breath. Agni, he'd forgotten how much of a brat he'd been at thirteen. Looking back on it, while he’d been in this Zuko’s shoes, Itzal had needed all the help and care he could—and was willing to—get. However, being the stubborn, prideful teenager that he’d been, he’d fought every attempt. 

This task would be harder than he thought if he was already irritated with his younger self. If Itzal was going to get anywhere with Zuko, he had to have patients and not match tempters with the little idiot. 

Lifting his head out of the underbrush, Itzal peered out at the village dock. It was bustling with movement, but Itzal focused on the two humans he was looking for. The round, stout silhouette of his Uncle encased in red Fire Nation armour followed the ridgid back march of the thirteen-year-old Prince. 

Seeing the two of them together, from the outside was like a punch to the gut. To begin with, his Uncle looked so different, but not physically. After the war was over and he no longer had the need of an imposing figure, Uncle had regained the plump silhouette that he’d lost while in prison, so seeing his Uncle overweight wasn’t the issue. 

It was how the man was carrying himself. 

The Uncle that he’d last seen for a visit in the palace, the older man was smiling, his head held high with his shoulders relaxed, but pushed back in a hopeful, content way.

The man trailing behind his nephew was anything but that man. This man had a defeated air to him, shoulders hunched and a neutral expression instead of hidden mirth. 

He was so…sad.

Itzal didn’t understand. The Uncle in his memory was always smiling or trying to get him to smile. 

Zuko, on the other hand, was exactly as he was expecting but it was another thing to see the teenager with his own eyes. His younger self was scowling, the large red mark on the left side of his face making the expression into something fierce instead of petulant like it would be on any other thirteen-year-old. The scar was obviously still fresh, the healing skin red with irritation and probably lingering infection. It was likely that the kid was having to wrap it every night with ointment to keep it healthy and in a vain attempt to lessen the scarring. 

And the hair. Looking at the phoenix tail and the surrounding baldness he could no longer completely object to the teasing Sokka had given him about it. It was awful . Itzal growled low in his throat, realizing that this self-imposed hairstyle had just been another sign of how much his father had controlled how he saw himself, how much Ozai had despised him. 

No father should make a child feel like they had to humiliate themself to gain their love and attention. 

Uncle—no, Iroh had said something else while Itzal was caught in his thoughts but Zuko’s yelling drew it back. 

“We’re not here for games!” the prince was screaming at his Uncle, having swung around to glare at him. Iroh smiled in face of it, a soft look directed at the boy despite his nephew snarling and snapping like a palace toy-poodle-fox. 

Iroh gasped theatrically, one hand over his chest. “There’s always time for a game of Pai Sho!” he cried with obvious false horror. 

Zuko screamed with frustration through his teeth. He pointed a finger at his Uncle like he was going to start a triade but he only made some more noise before turning on his heels and stomping further into the town. The moment that Zuko’s back was turned, the cheer on Iroh’s face drained away and he watched the child mournfully. 

Oh.

Itzal swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat. 

That’s why he couldn’t remember his Uncle ever being so depressed . Not like this. Uncle had allowed him to see his grief at his son's death, but not at his nephew's fate. He kept that to himself, no doubt trying to shield him or trying to be strong. 

Uncle was just as affected by the banishment as Itzal had been but for his nephew instead of having lost his home. Since Uncle hadn’t been banished, that man had freely chosen to accompany him. The older Prince could have left and returned to the Caldera at any time. 

He chose to stay, being there for his nephew; refusing to give up on him. 

Itzal whimpered and he felt a wet heat drip down his scaly cheeks. 

“Uncle,” he whispered, wanting to say…something. 

However, there was nothing he could say. There were no words to express the overwhelming gratitude that stole his voice. 

The man had already lost so much; his son, his father, his faith in his nation, his reputation (although, Itzal doubted he cared about that) and yet he willinging gave up so much more just for the slim chance that he could make his nephew see the horrors that he’d been blind to. 

“Thank you,” Itzal settled on, closing his eyes and picturing the man that had been left behind in the previous timeline. “Thank you. I love you.”

Itzal sniffed and wiped the tears from his face with his paw. Looking back at the humans, his resolve hardened anew; as if smelting old, rusty iron to reuse and forge into a new, deadly blade. 

He would change things. He would force his younger self to see much earlier. 

This war had to stop.

Ozai had to be stopped. 

A vague plan forming in his mind, Itzal slunk around the edge of the town, always keeping the princely duo in his line of sight. He watched as Zuko stopped at the market, where he knew the prince was bargaining for supplies. 

Itzal winced sympathetically, unsure if the prince had yet to learn the proper pricing for food and medical items. It was at some point in the first year, he thought, that it became apparent that the townspeople had been overcharging him, something that the Wani couldn’t afford with the limited resources given to him. He’d had to learn frugality after the Wani went hungry and was nearly dead in the water one too many times. 

Thankfully, Uncle had stopped him from going too far, but Itzal had been too prideful for too long and it had almost cost them. Hopefully, they could teach Zuko earlier. 

Iroh was following his nephew closely, always settling on the prince’s left, occasionally making little comments. Itzal could just barely make out what he was saying, gently pushing Zuko into taking a bargain or making him think more on a purchase. Of course, it didn’t always work and Zuko snapped at him and did the stupid thing anyway, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. 

Itzal was impressed, blinking at Iroh with his jaws parted. He hadn’t noticed Uncle doing that at all . 

They continued around the market, in and out of different stores and stalls. Once or twice they entered larger buildings for longer and Itzal lost sight of them. He wasn’t worried. He knew what the two were doing. He recognized the places. The first was obviously Fire Nation, and was most likely the military outpost. The other was a tea shop, where Iroh was no doubt receiving messages from the White Lotus. 

Finally, after their business was concluded, the duo were making their way back to the docks. Watching them, Itzal raised his whiskers and snapped them down, creating a sound like a whip cracking. It was loud and almost deafening to Itzal, considering it was right next to his ear. The whole town should have heard it. 

Iroh was the only one to react, his spine straightening abruptly and his eyes widening in alarm. The older man looked around frantically, stilling when his gaze caught and held Itzal’s. 

The man gasped, his hands half reaching towards him. Itzal raised his head, letting Iroh drink in the sight of him. It was amazing that Iroh had heard that sound at all, since it had been spiritual in nature. Only those in tune with the spirit world would have been able to hear it. Uncle had most likely been able to as well, yet he’d never said anything. 

Probably to not discourage him. Itzal would have badgered the man to use it in tracking down The Avatar, forcing him to admit that there was no trace of the World Spirit. Which wasn’t something he hadn’t heard a hundred times before, but if it had come from a spiritual source, it might have hit him differently.

“What? What is it?” Zuko snapped, turning back to his uncle, his brows furrowed in a worried frown. Well, it looked more like an angry scowl but Itzal knew that he wasn’t angry. If his uncle had made a startling sound like that, Itzal would have been worried too. 

Itzal quickly ducked out of sight, not letting the young prince see him as Iroh answered. “Nothing, Prince Zuko. I was just remembering that I left something in the Tea Shop.”

“That’s it?” Zuko snarled but Itzal didn’t stay to hear more of their conversation. Staying to the shadows, he slipped into the ocean, swimming along the bottom to not be seen. He trusted Iroh to understand his intent. 

They will be able to speak soon enough. 

With the moon shining high above, Tui painting La’s waters with flecks of silver, Itzal sought out the Wani. The small, ancient warship drifted over the waves at a decent speed, one that they could hold steady for hours. Which was the point, since it would be stupid to burn all of their limited fuel at once. 

Another plus was that the speed worked in Itzal’s favor. They were hours from any other settlement, and no one would hear them if Itzal was forced to fight. Angling his body against the wind, Itzal gently started to descend towards the ship, circling it in a large, downwards spiral.

Once he was close enough to see the soldiers on deck, he frowned. If he could see the men, then they could see him. Yet, the air was still and silent, free of the sound of alarm. Were they slacking? The crew of the Wani weren’t the best soldiers, considering that it was a black-mark deployment, but they weren’t stupid. Iroh wouldn’t let them be negligent. Despite being retired, Prince Iroh was still The Dragon of the West and knew how a military was supposed to be run. 

Yet, every soldier was on the ground or slouched over something, some snores filling the air. The only person awake on deck was Iroh, sitting at a small table with a pot of tea already brewed on it. The old general watched him circle, his hands calmly hidden in his sleeves. 

Landing gently on the deck, Itzal eyed him. He expected Iroh to allow Itzal to make contact, considering he’d been judged by Ren and Shaw and deemed worthy, but allowing the soldiers to sleep on the job? 

He glanced at the soldiers again and noticed an abandoned cup beside the one curled by the life raft. Itzal’s whisker twitched and he raised his head in surprise. 

“You drugged them?” Itzal asked, glancing back at the innocent-looking old man. 

Obviously not understanding, Iroh didn’t respond. Instead, he lowered himself into a shallow bow, his hands making the sacred flame. “Greetings, Honoured One,” the old general said with a genial smile.

Inwardly sighing at the term, Itzal dipped his head into his own sort of bow. Lifting himself out of it, he glanced at the soldiers again. 

“Ah. Don’t worry about them. They won’t wake for a few more hours,” Iroh assured him, reaching out to pour tea into the two cups on the table. 

“You drugged them,” Itzal repeated to himself, lifting his brows. He knew his uncle was sneaky, but he hadn’t expected that. Did he drug everyone? Who was manning the helm? Glancing over Iroh’s head, he tried to see if anyone was. He blinked when he saw Lieutenant Jee behind the wheel, a nervous, grim set to his face. Noticing that Itzal was looking at him, the man flinched, a grimace tightening his face under his facial hair. He held firm, however, staring the dragon down. 

A hum rumbled in Itzal’s throat as he regarded the soldier. Considering that the man wasn’t surprised or sounding the alarm, Iroh must have informed him ahead of time what he was going to do. 

Well, this was one way to allow them to speak without interruptions. Itzal had been prepared to expose himself to all of them, even willing himself to be caught to prove that he wasn’t a threat. He knew that Iroh wouldn’t have let anyone kill him. 

Forcing himself to relax, Itzal lay on the cold, metal deck on the other side of the table. Tucking his forelegs in close, he curled his tail around himself then twisted his neck around so his head was on roughly the same level as the short man’s. It might not have been the most dignified way he could settle, but he’d rather Iroh not have to tip his head back so far to keep eye contact. 

Meeting his gaze again, Iroh smiled. It was a good smile; friendly. But…the skin between his eyes was tighter than normal and the crows' feet weren’t as deep as they would be if he was truly smiling. 

He’s scared, Itzal realized. Iroh might have willingly let Itzal land on his ship and arranged things so that they could speak privately, but he was terrified of what all this could mean. Itzal couldn’t blame him. Iroh was handling it better than he would, honestly. 

Watching him, Iroh reached for his cup, holding it in his hand. 

Itzal tilted his head quizzically when he didn’t drink. Itzal knew the expression on his face, clearly waiting for Itzal to do something. Confused, Itzal glanced at the tea set again, then it clicked. Iroh had poured two cups and was waiting for him to pick up his own cup so they could drink together.  It was a hospitality quirk that Iroh used fairly often, a way to either break the tension or subtly show how he wouldn’t be pushed around. 

Itzal stared at him, incredulous. How was he, a dragon , supposed to drink from a cup? He didn’t think his claws would be able to even hold one without spilling it. 

However…Uncle never asked for something that he didn’t think Itzal could do. 

Tentatively, Itzal reached out a whisker and wrapped it around the ceramic cup. It was weird, using it for such a task but it only wobbled once before he managed to keep it still. Looking back at Iroh, they both drank. 

When the taste of his Uncle’s familiar jasmine tea touched his tongue, Itzal felt his eyes prick with tears. It didn’t taste the same—which wasn’t surprising considering he wasn’t human anymore—but it was close enough that it brought emotions he’d thought he’d buried to the surface. 

Spirits, how was he going to do this? 

The face looking back at him was familiar but it lacked the warmth and love that he’d come to expect and rely on. 

Itzal was a stranger to him, and Iroh was a ghost, unknowingly haunting him. 

Rolling the tea around on his tongue, Itzal savoured the taste before tipping his head back so he could swallow. 

There was a slight tap on the table as Iroh set his cup down. The man expelled a heavy breath, teetering on the edge of a sigh. 

“Hello, Honoured Dragon,” Iroh said, a strained smile on his face. 

Fighting to keep his composure, Itzal set his cup aside as well. Inwardly centering himself, he reached out with his other whisker. Seeing the offering as it was, Iroh politely took it like he would a hand, his grip gently as Itzal projected his thoughts to the man. 

“Hello,” Itzal echoed, his mental calligraphy stiffer than he would like. 

This was so weird. He didn’t know how to treat the man. 

Of course, he cared deeply for his Uncle, but this wasn’t him. The Dragon of the West would only be confused or even creeped out if he was too familiar like he yearned to be. He wanted nothing more than to collapse into his Uncle, allow the older man to help carry the weight of the world, if only for a moment. 

But he couldn’t. This man, this sad old man, was not his Uncle. He couldn’t do that to him. 

“You may speak plainly, My Lord,” Iroh told him, drawing him back into the present. 

“Uh, what?” Itzal blurted, thrown off kilter. 

Iroh’s lips twitch into a genuine smile, the corners of his eyes softening. “Yes, just like that. I understand why you are limiting yourself—it must be hard to speak and have those around you not understand.”

Itzal blinked stupidly. “How are you…?” he found himself asking, staring at his Iroh like he’d never seen him before. In a way, he supposed that he hadn’t. 

Prince Iroh had always been Uncle to him, and he, Nephew—of course he would tailor their interactions accordingly. Not that Uncle had been lying to him, but while doing relief missions with the GAang, Itzal learned how much adults shielded their children. Sometimes, it was kinder to tell a white lie than to have a child exposed to the ugliness around them. 

“Same way I heard you before. Lost in my own grief, I sought a way to commune with the spirit world. I was unable to find my son but the experience opened my eyes to more than just the cruelties of my people,” Iroh explained grimly and Itzal found it hard to breathe. 

Lu Ten. He was talking about Lu Ten. Itzal knew he went on a spiritual journey after the six hundred day siege, but this… Iroh was basically admitting to having gone on a suicide walk. A spiritual journey didn’t always mean the walker sought death, some—like Aang and the Air Nomads—did it to reach enlightenment but for someone to want to enter the Spirit World due to grief…

Those were the ones that typically never came back. 

“I understand,” Itzal said softly, his heart constricting painfully. Which was only half true. Itzal knew the pain of loss all too well. He knew the way it clawed and dug deep into someone's very soul. He could sympathise with the desire to just…stop. To lay down and let the world pass you by, even if he would never fall into the same trap. Not because he was deluded into believing that he was stronger than such things; it was nothing about strength. 

Itzal knew himself. He always gritted his teeth and bore it, fighting back in the face of a hurricane. Despite how much it hurt, despite all of the ridicule and pain he had endured his whole life, he never allowed himself to lay down and accept it. He would always get back onto his feet and march his way forwards. He’d spent three whole years clinging to hope with scorched fingers, hunting something everyone thought was a myth, for just the chance he could go home.

So no, he didn’t fully understand becoming so lost in sorrow to give themselves up to the Spirit World, but he understood grief.

This wasn't the first time he’d lost everything after all. 

Iroh twitched, his hand flexing around his cup. Inhaling slowly, the man closed his eyes and leaned back. “Forgive my manners, I am the Dragon of the West, Prince Iroh of the Fire Nation, son of Fire Lord Azulon and Fire Consort Ilah. May I have the privilege of knowing your name?” he asked, opening his eyes again to stare into Itzal’s. 

The look on his face almost made Itzal blurt something he knew he would come to regret. He wanted to cave, give in and tell this man everything. His name, his past, and everything that had happened. He wanted to collapse and snuggle into the warmth of family , the only family that had stayed with him through everything. 

He bit his tongue until he tasted blood. 

No. This man was not his Uncle. He would not place more burdens on his shoulders. He was already carrying too much. 

“Well met, Iroh, son of Ilah, I am Itzal Fènghuáng, ward of Ran and Shaw,” Itzal forced himself to say, burying his feelings deep down where they wouldn’t leak into his voice.

“Well met, Itzal, ward of Ran and Shaw,” Iroh echoed, then released his whisker to bow low, almost into a full kowtow. “I am so sorry.”

Itzal gapped at him, shocked into silence. 

“I am so sorry for what my people, my family, have done to yours,” Iroh continued without waiting for a response. “It was my grandfather that ordered the death of yours. I understand if you have come to claim your recompense.”

WHAT? Is that what—

Ah fuck no. 

Frantically, Itzal twisted his neck free of the curve that it had been in and reached forwards, pushing the man out of his bow with his nose. Iroh jumped at the contact, but did as he was bid, eyes wide. 

Glaring down at him, Itzal practically slapped his whisker on top of his head, snarling, “ You have nothing to apologize for.”

“But, the dragons—” 

“Are still alive, thanks to you,” he snapped, cutting him off. Iroh looked at him incredulously, like that had never happened to him before. 

Itzal ignored his look and barreled on. “You bear the title of ‘Dragon’. Don’t think I don’t know what that means. To be given it is to have the blood of dragons on your hands. There is no such thing on you. Because of you , Prince Iroh, my kin are alive . You didn’t slay them like you claimed, you saved them.” By not slaying Ran and Shaw but still claiming that he’d killed the last dragon, Iroh had effectively stopped the dragon hunts. What use would they be, if there was nothing to hunt?

Iroh shook his head. “My grandfather—”

“Is your nephew Ozai, son of Azulon?” Itzal interrupted again and the man jerked like he’d slapped him. “If Zuko cannot be blamed for the sins of his fathers, then you cannot bear it either.”

“Zuko is a child,” Iroh shot back. “Of course he isn’t to blame. His hands are clean. You say that the blood of dragons is not on my hands but I cannot claim the same for humans. I was a General of War, Honoured One; thousands are on my hands.”

Itzal huffed a small stream of smoke. “No, you can’t.” Nor will Zuko be able to claim that for long , he added mentally. Itzal had been forced to take a life not even a year into his banishment despite Uncle’s best efforts. 

“But I am not here to talk about the dragons.”

Iroh blinked, and his face smoothed out. Gone was the sorrow and regret hidden cleanly behind a mask of iron. 

“Of course,” he said smoothly. Settling himself properly again, he drank from his tea cup. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m here to help.”

Iroh stared at him, his eyes wide and lips parted in surprise. It was the closest his royal manners would allow him to get to full out gaping. His eyes narrowed moments later. 

"Help how?"

Itzal pulled away so he wouldn’t crowd the man’s space anymore.  He sighed through his nostrils. He couldn’t begrudge the man his sudden suspicion. Iroh was smart not to trust him, even if it made him feel cold. 

Taking his whisker off of his head, he instead twisting it around Iroh’s wrist. "You're right that the Fire Nation has a lot to answer for. Unprovoked attacks on innocents. Genocide. Animal cruelty and hunting for nothing more than sport and glory. They have lost much about who they were. History is written by the victors after all.

"However, not all is lost," Itzal added after a beat, observing how Iroh's expression fell with each accusation. “There’s still time to make corrections.”

Iroh stared at him. With his head still lifted above Iroh’s Itzal saw the man clench his fists until his knuckles were white with tension. The silence stretched between them, lengthening to the point of discomfort. 

Finally, Iroh relaxed. He reached for his cup of tea and sipped the warm beverage. “It was you, wasn’t it? You were the one who fought with the 41st.”

Itzal blinked at the question that wasn’t. How did he—ah. The White Lotus. He nodded. 

Iroh’s shoulders sagged. “Thank you. I wanted to aid them, those orders should have never been sent out, however my duty is to my family. My nephew will always be my priority.”

“I understand,” Itzal said around the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. Iroh wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t been aware of before, but for him to admit it so freely…

“Thank you,” Iroh sighed. “It seems I am in your debt twice over.”

“No debt. I am not doing this for your gratitude.”

Iroh nodded his understanding a second time, however, he was more hesitant. “You said that you are here to help. Help how? Did the Masters send you?”

Itzal hummed a rumble, his tail flicking idly as he thought. Technically, he could say that was the truth, the same way that he could claim to be following Agni’s will. 

“I left the Sun Warriors island with their blessing,” he settled on. His gaze flicked away from Iroh and towards the door that led to the captain's quarters. 

A near-soundless, yet heavy, sigh drew his attention back to Iroh. He blinked when he saw that the man had seemed to age years within the seconds that he hadn’t been watching him. 

“You’re here for Zuko,” he summarized blankly. 

“Yes.”

Iroh scowled. “He’s thirteen.”

“He is,” Itzal acknowledged. “He won’t stay that way.”

“No, he won’t. But hasn’t he suffered enough? His father burned him. Ozai has already given him an impossible task, one I cannot steer him from. The Avatar is gone. They died with the rest of the Air Nomads. I agree that the Fire Nation has much to answer for, but please.  

“Let him have a few years to rest,” Iroh pleaded, locking eyes with Itzal, his gaze full of sorrow yet as hard as steel, showing that he would do anything for his nephew.

Itzal stared down at the human. Mentally, he understood where Iroh was coming from, but he couldn’t agree with him. 

“He’s not,” Itzal refuted bluntly. “The Avatar lives.”

Iroh’s hand spasmed around his teacup. “What?” he whispered, his eyes wide.

“The Avatar lives,” Itzal repeated, “and he will return. We have some time but do you want Zuko to still believe in his father when he does?”

Iroh fell silent, his gaze hardening. 

Itzal couldn’t be sure, but he had an idea of what was going through his head. He had no doubt that in the last month or two that Zuko had been exiled, the kid had rejected every attempt that Iroh had tried to make his nephew see the flaws in his logic. Itzal remembered from his own years on the Wani that he barely allowed himself a moment to slow down. Any second not hunting the Avatar was a second wasted.

There had been moments of weakness, moments spent in the early hours of the morning when he wished he could just stop . But he never would. The hazy minutes after tearing himself free of nightmare-infested sleep. Despite them, every morning he would haul himself out of bed and push himself through training at a punishing pace. 

“He’s a child ,” Iroh reiterated, stressing the last word.

“He is,” Itzal allowed because it was the truth. “I know he is, but he doesn't have time to be. I’m sorry, but the comet is coming.”

Iroh rocks back, his face ashen. “What?”

“Sozin’s comet will arrive in three years. Ozai won’t let a chance like that pass him by. You know that he will use its power to wipe out the other nations. Which side do you want Zuko to be on?” he demands, his frustration leaking into his voice. There was no easy way to make Iroh understand, and he needed him to be on his side. 

Itzal couldn’t do this without him. 

“Very well,” Iroh conceded after a long, tense, silence. “What would you have me do?”

Chapter Text

Itzal and Iroh planned long into the night, arguing back and forth on the best course to take. Itzal would suggest something and Iroh wouldn’t disagree per se, but he would implore the dragon to lower his expectations. That Zuko needed time and love, yes, but for longer than Itzal was giving them.

Itzal exhaled smoke more than once, willing himself to not snap at the younger version of his uncle. 

While it was heartwarming to see how much his uncle cared for him, it was very inconvenient. 

Just before the guards were beginning to stir, they settled on making Zuko face the horrors of war, even if Iroh fought it. Quickly, they hashed out a plan of action for the next few days. They would meet up again in a few days after Iroh could convince his Nephew to go where they needed him to. 

Finally, with a path to follow, Itzal bid Iroh goodbye and launched himself into the air. Since they were far enough away from the coast so no one would see him, he rose higher and higher into the sky, only levelling out when the clouds concealed him. He spent the rest of the lay gliding in slow circles, adopting a near-meditative flight pattern. A day passed in this manner until he could land without painting an immediate target on his back. 

Making his way to the agreed location, Itzal landed at the entrance of another set of ruins. Stalked, half-broken-down buildings hugged the side of a mountain cliff, hidden expertly among the towering peaks above him. The structures were built directly into the mountain, connected by stone archways that snaked up and down the cliff. The entry doors were half rotting off their hinges, the rusted metal frame the only thing keeping them standing. Blacken scorch marks marred some of the cut stone and a mural was chipped and defaced. 

Itzal sighed, looking at the carnage that his people had wrought. 

Making his way along the paths, he came to a larger open-air balcony, looking down at the valley far below. Old, twisted trees framed the edge of the courtyard, no leaves growing on the branches despite the soft warmth of spring in the air.

Stepping out onto the beautiful mosaic swirling across the floor, Itzal observed the familiar style of buildings. 

He’d been here before, once, in the past that was no longer. It was an Air Nomad settlement, just off the coast of the Northern Sea, hidden within the mountain range. After hearing whispers of it in a local port, he’d been convinced it was where the Avatar was hiding. He’d ignored all of Uncle's caution, making the trek to it despite the road being long and better suited for goats. 

Stepping delicately so he wouldn’t damage anything, Itzal found himself making his way past the courtyard and toward the back of the settlement. Fallen tree needles crunched under his paws, the only sound being the whistle of the wind. He followed a well-travelled path, despite moss and hardy mountain plants valiantly trying to grow between the craggy stone. 

Before him, an echo of his past flickered into being. A figure marched up the steps, sometimes teetering unsteadily before finding its balance again. A single plume of hair danced in the clawing wind and the person walking hunched against the cold. Puffs of steam wafted from their mouth as they struggled to keep warm, having not yet mastered the Breath of Fire. 

All too soon, they came to a stop when the trail plateaued at a cliff edge. The figure stopped, staring at something before turning to look over their shoulder. An angry, half-healed scar looked back at Itzal, but the other half of their expression was lost, wide and hopeless like they had suddenly become untethered. 

The echo vanished on the wind and Irtzal found himself staring at a lone marker, standing out among the flat stone. Half eroded by time, the stone marker was covered in moss and had sprouts of grass dancing around its base. 

Itzal stepped up, gazing down at the letters etched into the surface.

Our brothers and Sisters of Air

Have been returned to their Element

Let us not forget their needless deaths

It was a grave marker, one that was made by an earth bender. Itzal hadn't been able to recognize that himself at the time, Uncle pointing it out, but after witnessing Toph bend on more than one occasion, he could see what Uncle had. The stone was flush with the surrounding rocks—because it had been cut from it—unlike other markers which had been placed there. 

Despite the care that had gone into making it, its disrepair was evident. Observing the erosion, he resolved to bring this world's version of Toph at some point, if only to fill in some of the fracturings. 

Giggles danced on the wind, making Itzal’s ear flick to the sound. He inhaled slowly, having an idea of who—or what—it came from.

“I seek not to trespass uncaringly. If you wish for me to leave, I will. I only ask that you allow me to return once before departing. I will be meeting someone here and it’s important I not miss them,” he said, not taking his eyes off of the marker. 

The faint giggling rose in volume, multiple, childlike voices overlapping each other.

It should have been sweet; the laugh of a child, but there was a sharp edge to their cadence. 

“Why should I grant you such a boon, Child of Fire?” a wispy voice asked, the source impossible to track, the wind tugging harshly at his mane, and there was a sensation of half-formed hands grabbing onto one of his horns and tugging. 

Itzal bore it without fighting back. He stood still as other hands, much smaller than the first, yanked at other parts of him. He swallowed a grunt as a loose scale was ripped out.

“Because I want to make amends. What happened here was a travesty that should never be repeated.”

The spirit—because what else could they be—hummed. The hand on his horn tightened before he was released, the force of the push enough to move his head. 

“I’ve heard of you, Lost One. The would-be Fire Lord; here to fix all the wrongs in the world. Tell me, Child of Fire , what could possibly make up for what has been done?” they asked and a misty figure condensed into sight before him.

The Spirit took the form of a woman, her hair and dress that of an Air Nomad. On her brow was a familiar tattoo, the blue arrow pointing downwards. At some point her hair ribbon had snapped, allowing the long strands to dance around her. Her robes were layered over her form, clearly dressed for the bitter winds that blew through the mountains. 

Her grey-silver eyes stared him down, lacking any glimmer of light that was normally seen among the living.

She wasn’t alone. At the hem of her robes, even fainter impressions of children swirled around her feet. Some of them curled into her, cowering, while others tugged against her skirts, held there by something he couldn’t see. There were at least a dozen of them.

“You’re one of the Air Nomads that were killed here,” Itzal realized quietly. 

“I am.”

He rumbled mournfully, risking a glance back at the grave marker. “Why do you linger? I thought that the marker would have put your soul to rest.”

The spirit clicked her tongue. “Ah yes, the earth people did their best,” she said looking down at the stone marker. She floated down and ran scorched fingers along the edge. “I am grateful for what they did. They were our neighbours, you see. We traded goods with them, milk and wool from our bison, fresh fruits and artisan crafts for textiles and grains that we couldn’t grow ourselves.

“But. Did you know…it took them weeks to check on us?” she asked in a quieter, harsher tone. “Decades of partnerships, even some intermarriages; for what? Weeks of our bodies left out to rot . For carrion scavengers to pick at our bones without the proper rites? Oh, they certainly did them well, with what was left. We belong to the air—to the sky—and to the sky were they returned. Yet nothing was done. So Fire Child, what reparations can be made?” she snarled, the winds picking up so ones as strong as a gale were tugging at his mane and scales. 

Itzal was no stranger to vitriol and scorn, but he was inwardly taken aback by her attitude. Not because she wasn’t justified—because she was more than justified—but it wasn’t what he was expecting.

From having met and befriended Aang it felt odd for another Air Nomad to be so resentful. Sure, Aang had his own moments of rage, but he was normally sunshine incarnate, preaching all of the philosophies that he had learned during his childhood. Which had only been twelve years compared to this woman who would have spent double that time with them. 

Still, Itzal met her poisonous gaze without flinching. “Not enough. Never enough. Nothing can undo what happened. We can only prepare for what’s to come.”

The spirit hummed, and a gale started to swirl around them, kicking up dust and tree nettles. They buffed against him, and if he’d still had human skin, Itzal knew that it would have felt like sandpaper. But he didn’t, and he felt nothing through the safety of his hard scales. 

“Wise words,” the spirit said finally and the winds died down to a more bearable force. 

“They missed you, didn’t they?” Itzal asked on impulse. 

The spirit blinked, obviously caught off guard. “Pardon?”

“Your body, and theirs,” Itzal clarified, looking down at the children clinging to her. “The earth villagers didn’t find your body. That’s why you linger.”

The spirit stared at him blankly, no light behind her eyes. Abruptly, her features twisted into an ugly rage, before she squeezed her eyes shut and blew out a breath, smoothing out her face.

“Yes,” she admitted in a whisper. Itzal’s ears pricked so he could hear her. For the first time since appearing, she acknowledged the children clinging to her, a hand dropping down to gently run her palm over a bald head, lacking the distinctive tattoo. They had been too young, too unskilled to receive them. 

“I was their caretaker. It was my duty to keep them safe.”

Itzal’s eyes flicked down to the children.

Hearing his unspoken statement, she nodded. “Sozin’s soldiers found us. The moment we got word of the attack, I gathered as many children as I could and hid.” She snorted, the sound heavy with contempt. “I should have let us be found. We were hunted down so easily. Because of my foolishness, we were denied the very thing that mattered most to up: air.”

Smoke inhalation, Itzal put together. If she had managed to lock them somewhere that couldn’t burn, that was the next easiest way for a fire bender to kill. That and overwhelming heat.

“I’ll make sure that you are found,” he promised. 

The weight of the spirit’s silent regard was heavy, her empty eyes not straying from his own. “See that you do.” Without another word, she vanished. 

Itzal was alone atop the bluff. The wind whistled around him, and for a moment, he thought he heard the echoes of the children's giggles. The marker stood still against the onslaught of air that flowed around it, the single remaining remnant showing that anyone had cared about those that had lived there. 

“I promise,” he said to the cold stone. He bowed his head and briefly pressed his snout to the top. 

Finally, he moved to leave, readying himself for Zuko’s arrival. 

Three sunrises came and went before Itzal heard the traces of voices on the wind. Ears angled towards the sound, he lifted his head and sniffed. He couldn’t catch any scent but by the echoes of shouts, he figured that Zuko and his guards would arrive in an hour or so. 

Lowering his head back onto the cobblestone, he resumed his calm, half-awake meditative state. He draped over one of the higher walkways, looking down at the courtyard he’d stopped in the day he’d arrived. His tail hung over the railing, dangling down to the stone wall. His head rested in a section of railing that had been broken, allowing his chin to extend over the edge.

He didn’t have much longer to wait, the sounds of approaching humans loud in the otherwise empty mountains. 

“Avatar!” a squeaky, raspy voice bellowed as Zuko stormed into the ruins. “I know you’re here! Stop being a coward and fight me!” he screamed, thoroughly announcing his presence. 

Itzal wanted to click his tongue. That kind of foolish, reckless move was one that Sokka would have done when he first met the water tribe warrior. Before Sokka learned that screaming ‘sneak attack’ was the worst thing you could do when attacking from behind. It was just asking to be found and punched in the face. 

“Nephew, I do not believe that is the wisest course of action. Even if the Avatar were here, you would not defeat him with insults,” Iroh said as he followed Zuko more sedately. 

Curiously, there were only two guards flanking him; Lieutenant Jee and a soldier that Itzal recognized as his first officer. Which was odd. On a standard mission inland, like this one, Uncle always badgered him to bring at least four guards. Which was something Itzal had only allowed at the beginning. During their second year of exile, he’d managed to whittle the number down to two. 

Also—thank you Iroh; tell him to stop being an idiot. 

Zuko flushed, his shoulder coming up to rest under his ears. Pink crawled up his good cheek and ear, turning his face red. “ Shut Up, ” he—well...Itzal knew he was going for a roar, but it came out more like a raspy squeak. Ignoring his Uncle, the young prince barreled forwards, darting to a building and proceeded to search it. 

Iroh sighed, watching his nephew conduct his futile search. Once out of sight, his gaze swept the courtyard in a practiced check for enemies. Wisely, his eyes also looked up toward the walkways above. Instead of seeing any attackers, he locked eyes with Itzal. A tension in his shoulders that Itzal hadn’t noticed before tightened further, transforming him from ‘retired old man’ into 'Old General', with many battles under his belt. 

Behind the royal, Lieutenant Jee and First Officer Ayumi also straightened, the latter unable to cover her gasp. They swallowed and shifted their weight, uneasy. Ayumi’s hand made an aborted move towards the sword slung across her back, clearly not liking being so close to a living dragon. 

Itzal watched through his lashes, keeping his eyes mostly closed to feign sleep. He wasn’t surprised that the woman had been read in. Ayumi had been a constant presence on the deck of the Wani during his exile. He had fond memories of the small but fierce woman. She wasn’t overly nice but he’d come to learn her version of kindness. She’d been one of his most frequent sparring partners, despite not being a firebender. 

Although, that might have been what had endeared him to the older woman. She’d been like an odd amalgamation of Ty Lee and Mai. Plus…her lack of ability to send a fistful of fire at his face might have added to it. 

He could admit that to himself now, looking back. Something that thirteen-year-old Zuko would never do. 

Other than the human’s initial reactions, none of the adults mentioned seeing Itzal when Zuko emerged. Stepping out of the building, the child's scowl was even harsher after finding nothing. His scar was the only reason it wasn’t a pout, the burnt flesh tugging at his mouth and nose. 

Iroh huffed, clearly seeing through the angry mask. “Found anything?” he asked mildly.

Zuko whipped his head towards his uncle and snarled wordlessly. Lieutenant Jee’s uncovered face twitched, clearly not appreciating the aggression towards his General. 

Iroh ignored the tension building around them, smiling gently. “Take heart, Prince Zuko; there are other buildings to explore.”

“I know that!” Zuko snapped, whirling around. He began marching towards another doorway but froze midstep. His good eye widened impossibly while his burned one made a valiant effort. His gaze followed the length of Itzal’s dangling tail, going over his body to land on his face.

So now he notices, Itzal mused to himself. Which was far too late. Itzal could have killed him easily at least five times and Zuko wouldn’t have been aware of the danger.

It was sloppy.  

“Uncle,” Zuko whispered, his lips barely moving. “Is that…?”

“A Dragon?” Iroh finished for him. “It certainly looks like one.”

Zuko twitched, his chin half turning back towards his uncle but he caught himself. His gaze was fixed solely on Itzal. 

“Is it asleep?”

It was a good question. Itzal certainly appeared to be asleep. Just for that, he breathed in deep and exhaled, his jaw dragging across the stone like he was shifting in his sleep. He kept his amusement at Zuko’s frightened step back to himself, instead making a sound like a snore. 

“I doubt it. You were quite loud,” Iroh answered, his amusement barely hidden. 

Zuko flushed again, the blush he’d lost in his shock returning with a vengeance. “ Uncle!” he hissed between his teeth. “What do we do?”

Iroh hummed. He calmly stroked his beard. “I’m not quite sure. What do you think we should do, Prince Zuko?”

Dismay flashed across Zuko’s face, expression open and childlike. A sound like a whimper was stubbornly smothered in his throat but Itzal still heard it. 

Itzal twitched. He almost broke his charade.

For the first time, it really hit him how young he’d been. It was one thing to know that this version of himself was thirteen but another entirely to see the hopelessness and fear on the boy’s face. This version of Itzal/Zuko was thirteen , and already burned, disowned and cast out from his country, his home. 

Zuko’s eyes rapidly flicked to his uncle and back to Itzal. He bit his lower lip, breathing deeply and slowly. “Sozin’s law demands that…that we kill it," he forced out, a waiver in his voice. "You did. That’s why you’re…why you’re the Dragon of the West.”

Iroh flinched but Zuko missed it, his back to his uncle. “That it does,” Iroh stated, his voice betraying none of his inner feelings. “Is that what you want?”

Zuko chewed more on his bottom lip. “No.” His response was whispered, barely audible.

Itzal wasn’t surprised by the boy’s choice, but seeing that he hadn’t judged his memories poorly was a relief. He’d always loved Dragons as a child and could never see himself willingly taking one’s life, but this Zuko was freshly scared and Itzal wasn’t positive how he would react. 

Hearing what he needed, Itzal fully opened his eyes, pinning the young prince with the weight of his gaze.

Zuko gasped and stumbled further back as Itzal moved. Lifting his head and pushing himself up into a more dignified position, his tail flicked and thudded on the stone walkways behind him, shaking the dust free of the nearest building. He yawned hugely, flashing his sharp fangs. Licking his chops, he shook his neck like an ostrich-horse, his mane flopping about. 

“General!” Lieutenant Jee implored through clenched teeth.

Iroh didn’t respond, calmly watching as Itzal stood and arched his back, then stepped down onto the courtyard with them. 

The humans backed as far away as they could, giving him plenty of room in the now-crowded courtyard. Itzal ignored them, settling into a new position with his paws crossed and wings tucked neatly around his body. He looked back to the humans, narrowing his eyes.

Zuko met his gaze squarely when Itzal focused on the boy. His hands were trembling at his side, but after the initial reaction, he’d stubbornly planted his feet, meeting the dragon’s gaze. They kept eye contact, neither moving, a stillness blanketing them. 

Zuko frowned. “You’re not scared.”

Bemused, Itzal arched his unburned brow. 

Zuko’s expression twisted further, a scowl pulling at his scar. “Are you stupid?” he demanded bluntly. 

Finally, Iroh reacted, his face palling. “Nephew, I don’t think—”

“No,” Zuko shouted, cutting him off. “It’s a dragon, and it’s not running away! It even came down to sit in front of us! We’re humans; it should be getting far away. Look at its face! It's already been attacked by Firebenders once. Why is it not afraid of us?”

“Because there is nothing to fear,” Itzal snorted, even as he was inwardly taken aback. He hadn’t expected that level of care from the boy. Not at this point. 

Zuko’s head whipped towards Itzal, glaring. “Nothing to fear?” he repeated hotly. “Because I wouldn’t be able to beat you? I wouldn’t have to. Uncle’s earned the title of Dragon. You should be afraid.”

Iroh coughed into his fist. “Nephew, I would appreciate it if you don’t announce that.”

Zuko jerked, his face losing all of its colour. He nervously glanced between his uncle and the dragon.

Itzal barely heard him, staring speechlessly for a whole other reason. “You can understand me?”

The boy blinked. “Um…yeah? It’s because I’m Zuko, son of Ozai, the Fire Lord who is the son of Azulon, the previous one. The Royal family has always been able to understand Dragons. Or, at least that’s what the stories say,” he muttered under his breath, a faint, disgruntled scowl pulling at his mouth. 

Itzal had no memory of that little nugget of information. He thought he’d memorized every theatre scroll in the Royal Library, but apparently, details were escaping him. 

His eyes narrowed. That was something he should have recalled, or had experienced once he became Druk’s caretaker. He wasn’t that surprised that he hadn’t heard Druk—considering that he was a baby— but Ran and Shaw would have conversed with him normally when instructing him on how to care for their youngling.

Did this have something to do with traveling back in time? he wondered. Was the energy used to send him back in time causing more ripples then he thought it would? 

Itzal tried to exchange a look with Iroh over the boy’s head, but the older human appeared equally perplexed. 

“Can you understand me, Dragon of the West?” Itzal asked. Zuko also turned towards his uncle, expectant. 

Iroh looked between them, a wry smile on his face. “If you were addressing me, Honoured One, I’m sorry to say that I did not understand it.”

“B-but, but—you’re my uncle!” Zuko stammered. “Why don’t you?”

Iroh shrugged. “The Royal Family has not been in contact with Dragons in almost a hundred years, Prince Zuko. Perhaps our gift faded without frequent use.”

“But that doesn't make any sense.”

“Does it really matter?” Itzal interjected. “You can understand me; he cannot.”

Zuko crossed his arms over his chest, looking down. “I guess not.”

Itzal huffed fondly, reminded of Sokka pouting after being proven wrong. “I believe we were talking about how you would kill me,” he reminded them. 

“Oh—right.” Zuko shook his head, dropping his arms back down to his side, loose and ready for action. He shifted like he wanted to attack but blinked and scowled. “Why would you remind us? Why are you still here? Isn’t it a good idea to, I don’t know, run , when someone threatens your life?” he demanded. 

Behind his back, Iroh lifted his eyes up to the heavens with an air of exasperation. 

Itzal snorted a surprised puff of smoke. “I have nothing to fear of you or your Uncle,” he reiterated. “None of you will kill me, and that has nothing to do with lack of skill,” he added when Zuko opened his mouth. “Iroh has already earned his title, he gains nothing from needless slaughter and you would never choose to.”

Zuko closed his mouth with a click. The look he sent his Uncle was unsure, his eyes darting between the two of them. Iroh smiled gently, remarkably at ease for someone only able to hear one side of the conversation. 

Realizing this, Itzal offered a whisker for him to hold. Iroh dipped his chin in thanks, accepting his kindness. Zuko watched the interaction with an air of wonder, his aggressiveness draining away, showing the little boy that was locked behind heavy walls. 

“Can you really project thoughts that way?” he blurted then flinched. His muscles tensed, his knees slightly bent like he was ready to bolt. 

“Yes,” Itzal answered, not acknowledging his reaction. “This way Iroh can also understand me.”

“And what a blessing that is,” the older man said with a grin. 

Zuko frowned. “I thought that the mental talk was only pictures, not words?”

“It is,” Iroh acknowledged then coughed a little uncomfortably. “During my, ah, year away, I did a lot of soul-searching. One of which was getting closer to the spirit realm. A Dragons ability to converse with normal humans is spiritual in nature. Those of us more in-tune with the other side have an easier time hearing them.”

“Oh.” Zuko absorbed that but Itzal could tell by his lack of reaction that the implications that were presented went right over his head. 

Moving on quickly, Iroh turned back to Itzal, bowing his head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Honoured one. You know that my name is Iroh, son of Azulon; would you do us the pleasure of knowing your name?”

“Oh right,” Zuko muttered, echoing Itzal's own thoughts. He completely forgot his manners, not introducing himself. 

“You may address me as Itzal Fènghuáng,” he told them. 

Zuko opened his mouth but stopped. “Um. You already know who we are,” he said sheepishly. 

Itzal nodded. 

The boy’s lips twitched into a shy, barely there smile. He bit his lip, glancing at his uncle and fidgeting with his fingers. Itzal regarded him with amusement, knowing what was going through his head. Now that the introductions were out of the way, Zuko was shocked that he was standing in front of a dragon, the part of him that was still a little boy bubbling with glee.

Itzal patiently waited him out, knowing that soon enough, the prince wouldn’t be able to help himself and blurt endless questions. 

However, to his surprise, Zuko did none of that. After a second his muscles locked up, stilling with a look of fear flashing across his face before everything drained away and the boyish excitement was covered with a mask of indifference and anger. 

“Is this where you’ve been hiding? I thought all of the dragons were gone,” he demanded instead, the gruffness of his voice hiding whatever he was thinking. 

Itzal blinked, shifting back a bit. A glance at Iroh, but the older man hadn’t been surprised by the sudden shift. Instead, a sense of resignation pulled at his features. Returning to Zuko, Itzal sighed through his nose.

He didn’t remember being this moody.

“No, I haven’t been. Also, you might not want to mention the slaughter of my people so casually,” he growled, drawing on his very real anger about how Sozin had single-handedly caused the genocide of not one, but two races. He felt a little guilty for making them believe that he’d lived through a genocide when he very much did not but they didn’t know that. He could apologize to Ren and Shaw later. 

Zuko jerked back, his eyes widening and he fearfully glanced at his uncle, who was looking down. Zuko’s head whipped back to Itzal, and his fear morphed into determination and his hands curled into fists. 

“Peace,” Itzal said firmly before the child could do something stupid. “I’m not here to fight anyone, even the Dragon of the West.”

Zuko’s eyes narrowed. “Then why are you here?”

“For you,” Itzal answered bluntly. He heard Iroh sigh but only flicked his ear, waving his exasperation away. Yes, an upfront response might not have the desired result but he knew himself. Things would go better in the long run if Itzal never lied to the kid.

Besides, why waste time with words that mean nothing?

Zuko’s mouth opened, his jaw hanging. “Me?” he sputtered. “Why would you want anything to do with me? I’m nothing but a banished, honourless prince! I can’t even go home!”

Iroh flinched, closing his eyes with his mouth set in a grim line.

“You are not,” Itzal snarled, the fur in his mane rising to stand on end, “what Ozai says you are. It’s because of your banishment that I knew you wouldn’t seek to kill me,” he added with a gentler tone. He was sympathetic to what the kid was going through. He knew the levels of anguish and self-hatred that he was dealing with.

Zuko scoffed, turning his head but Itzal barreled on. 

“What Prince, who burned for his people when no one else stood up for them, would take an innocent life?”

“A disgraced one!” Zuko shot back, surging to his feet. “I was a coward and disrespectful to my Fire Lord. I needed—I needed to be taught a l-lesson.”

You can’t even say ‘lesson’ without flinching, Itzal hissed mentally. He didn’t voice that particular thought, however. 

“No,” he said instead, his voice firm and unyielding, “you did not. You did nothing that would warrant getting half of your face burnt off. What Ozai did was cruel and it was wrong. You should never have been punished for saving lives.” 

Itzal wanted to believe he delivered all of that with a calmness that he’d been starting to cultivate in his later teens but he knew his voice shook with his fury. He hadn’t seen it before, but now, looking down at the terrified, burned, face of a little boy, he couldn’t contemplate for a single second that any of it, in any sense of the word, was okay.  

For himself, he’d been pushing it down and telling himself that it was fine, that he was over and past it. 

It turns out, no, he was not.  

A growl rumbled deep in his throat, rattling his bones.

How dare Ozai do something like this.

To his own child.

Itzal couldn’t even understand how he was related to such a monster. No honourable human would even conceive of such a horrific act. 

Unfortunately, there were a lot of them within the Fire Nation. 

Zuko stared at him, his shoulders loose and arms limp at his side while his face was open with shock. His gaze flicked back and forth over Itzal’s face, clearly looking for something. 

He didn’t understand , Itzal inferred, breathing deeply to try and calm himself. No one had told Zuko that before; not around him and certainly not to his face. Iroh would have certainly tried but Zuko wouldn’t have listened to him and no one else knew enough to say something. 

“What do you know?” Zuko suddenly said, his voice quiet. Tears gathered at the corner of his eyes, completely opposite to how his face contorted with anger and his fists curled tightly. “You weren’t there! Father loves me! He was teaching me a lesson!”

Itzal’s head reared back, lifting up and away from the vitriol. He blinked rapidly as he regained himself. Why this little…

“I know plenty,” he snared in turn. Lowering his head again so he was inches from the stupid boy's face. Spirits, he didn’t remember being this much of an idiot.

They both opened their mouths to continue shouting at each other but snapped them shut when a pointed clearing of a throat interrupted them.

“Perhaps this conversation would go better with some nice, calming jasmine tea,” Iroh suggested. 

Feeling like his ears were playing tricks on him, Itzal slowly turned his head to look over at the old general, who had blended so easily into the background that he’d almost forgotten that he was there. Zuko did the same and the two of them stared at the tea set and small fire that Iroh had set up, the kettle resting on the grate above the open flame. 

Where did he even pull that from? Itzal wondered. 

Zuko, on the other hand, didn't question it. “Uncle! This isn’t time for your stupid tea!”

“Is it steeped?” Itzal asked, honestly curious.

Iroh smiled. “It will be shortly."

“You can’t even drink it!” Zuko sputtered, regarding Itzal with a new level of confused disgust. 

Itzal Ignored him. Shifting around so he was closer to the impromptu tea party, he inquired, “Do you have any sugar or honey?”

The aghast look Iroh gave him was honestly an overreaction. “Why would I defile perfectly good tea with something like that?” he asked, a hand on his chest. 

Itzal snorted, his free whisker curling with his amusement. “I don’t view it that way. It’s too bitter.”

“Yes! It’s supposed to be!”

Zuko’s head bounced between the two of them fast enough that his phoenix plume smacked him in the face. 

“Don’t ignore me!” he finally screeched. 

Itzal and Iroh paused, turning as one to look at him. The silence hung between them as Zuko’s nostrils flared. 

“Were we ignoring him? I don’t remember that,” Itzal said, glancing back to see Iroh pouring tea into the three cups. 

Iroh’s lips quivered with a smirk but quickly smoothed it into a soft smile. “I wasn’t ignoring you, nephew. Here, drink this,” he added, placing the second poured cup on the stone ground while keeping the third for himself. 

Smothering his snort, Itzal proceeded to ignore Zuko’s further denial that Itzal could drink tea, using his free whisker to delicately sip at the hot beverage. The familiar taste of herbs and flowers flooded his mouth and he closed his eyes in bliss. He really did miss this. 

Zuko stopped mid-sentence, and Itzal opened his eyes to stare the boy down. 

Muscles jumped in Zuko’s jaw as he clenched his teeth. Jutting his chin out mulishly, he plopped himself down with a scowl bordering on a pout. Grabbing the last cup, he lifted it to his lips and knocked some of it back like it was hard liquor.

Swallowing too much at once, he sputtered and coughed. Not addressing his lack of fineness, he glared at the two of them and slammed the cup down with a scowl. 

“There. I drank your stupid tea—happy?” he snarled.

Iroh’s face spasmed like he couldn’t decide what expression to make. Itzal watched with amusement, knowing that Iroh’s tea-snob self was fighting with the joy of finally getting Zuko to sit and drink tea with him. 

“It might taste better if you savour it. Bitter fruit gives more nourishment than honeyed nectar,” Iroh settled on finally, clearly tipping more towards ‘caring uncle’ than the future owner of a prestigious tea shop.

“What does that even mean?” Zuko grumbled, not whining at all.

Itzal chuffed a laugh, his tail flicking with his amusement. He was tempted to tell the boy that Iroh was talking about bitter truths and honeyed lies. One is hard to swallow but will actually sustain you while the other is easy to ingest but will do more damage in the long run.

He held his tongue. With how Zuko had reacted to him saying something, he wasn’t ready for his uncle to agree with a stranger. 

On another note, Itzal was pleased that he understood Iroh’s proverb. Although, he could admit to himself that it was probably only because Aang had explained something along those lines to him before. 

“What do you think it means?” Iroh prompted. 

Zuko threw his hands up into the air. “I don’t know! That’s why I’m asking!”

“It’s good to ask questions when you’re confused,” Itzal agreed. He sipped his tea again, humming with pleasure before continuing, “But some answers you have to find yourself.”

“And this is one of them,” Zuko stated. It was not a question, his voice and face flat with annoyance. 

Itzal nodded anyway. 

Zuko scowled, ducking his head to stare down at the liquid in his teacup. 

Itzal drank some more of his own, breathing deeply so the aroma could spread through his nose and into his lungs. Exhaling gently, he brought his attention back to the boy. 

As always, Iroh knew exactly what he’d been doing. By forcing them to sit and drink some tea, their previous heated argument had been banked. The fire wasn’t out, not by a long shot, but Itzal felt more centred and clear-headed. Zuko also seemed to have calmed down, despite his muffled grumbling. 

Yelling at the stupid boy would get them nowhere, it might even do the opposite of what they needed. He had to change his approach.

Setting his cup to the side, Itzal crossed his paws regally and twisted his neck around so that he could comfortably lower his head to their eye level. Iroh noticed his change, glancing up from his cup with an inquisitive look. Itzal flicked his tail and focused on the boy.

“Do you know what this place is?” Itzal asked quietly, breaking the brief silence that had blanketed them. 

Caught taking a drink from his own tea, Zuko’s eyes darted around them, lingering on each building. It was vastly different than anything the prince would have seen within Caldera.

Instead of the towering pillars and fortified walls that he was used to, the Air Nomad settlement was a series of stacked buildings, some grouped together and some by themselves. All of them were tall, their roofs coming to a tapered point. Any walls that they had were purely functional, used as walkways from one building to the next. 

The courtyard they were in had nothing to do with practicing fighting. In fact, it looked fairly similar to the meditation center that Aang had pointed out at the Western Air Temple.

In short, it looked nothing like the fortified keep that was Caldera Palace. 

Still, the boy said, “It’s an Air Nation stronghold.”

Itzal exhaled deeply, closing his eyes. He’d expected that response but he hadn’t anticipated how much it would hurt. His heart ached with the fact that his younger self could believe something so wrong about Aang's people. For anyone to think that the Air Nomads had been militaristic in any sense of the word showed how badly the Fire Nation had fallen. 

“No. That's not what they were,” Itzal said, opening his eyes. 

Zuko glanced uneasily at his uncle. Iroh’s face was downturned, solemn and regretful. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “What were they?” he asked, voice hushed. 

Itzal opened his wings, sweeping them around as he would have with human arms. “This was a village. A spiritual retreat. Some families lived here permanently but others were drawn here to be closer with the four  Elements. This place is unique because it has connections to all of them. It’s high up, for those of Air to feel at home. Snow gathers and melts every season, allowing pools of Water to gather in natural springs. It is built on solid Stone foundations and within is a lava chamber, creating natural hot springs and is a source of Fire. 

“The Air Nomads were Monks, prioritizing spirituality and pacifism over all else. This place reflects that," Itzal said.

Zuko paled, a creeping horror emerging from within. “You’re lying,” he whispered, immediately denying the mere idea that the Nomads had been innocent.

“I’m not.” 

“No!” the boy shouted, surging to his feet. “You’re lying. You have to be—Uncle,” he cried, turning to Iroh but faltered when he saw the look on the older man’s face. In minutes years had aged his face and a heaviness rested on his shoulders. He met his nephew's gaze and slowly shook his head.

“You’re lying,” Zuko repeated, but his protest lacked his previous conviction. 

Itzal grunted and stood up. Zuko stumbled back, his fist rising but Itzal didn’t dignify that with a reaction. 

“Come,” he ordered, turning on the spot and leading the way to another, smaller, hidden path. He only waited long enough for all of the humans to follow. 

It was time for Zuko to face his first real taste of the horrors of war. 

The time for childish beliefs was over. 

Some would say it was cruel, to force a child to see what he was about to see but they couldn’t afford for Zuko to stay innocent.

Chapter Text

Itzal led the humans down a winding pathway. One that, to someone who wasn’t looking for it, would have a hard time finding. It hugged the wall of a narrow cavern, winding down into a grotto with a pool of water at the bottom. A waterfall flowed into it from high above, keeping the pool clean and always changing. 

It was beautiful. Nature flourished freely, moss and other vegetation growing in every nook and cranny that it could. 

That did, however, make the path treacherous. The moss on the stone steps was slippery from the mist the waterfall produced. He could tell that the humans wanted to turn around but Itzal wouldn’t allow them to, leading all of them down to the bottom.

At the base of the stairs was a single building, covered in moss and ivy. Where the door would normally be was a large boulder, one that had clearly been smashed into the entrance. All of the stone was black, scorched with ancient fire. 

Without ceremony, Itzal reared onto his back legs and pushed the boulder out of the way. Dragon strength made it easy and the stone was shoved to the side with a loud grind of stone. It moved quickly and rolled into the fall wall with a bang. All of the humans flinched at the thunderous sound, shifting uneasily as it echoed around them, bouncing off the cavern walls. 

Landing back onto all fours, Itzal turned his head to stare down at Zuko. “Look within and tell me again that I am lying,” he rumbled.

Zuko glanced nervously at his uncle, seeking…something. Whatever it was, he didn’t find it. Iroh was just as confused as he was, perhaps more so because Itzal was no longer allowing him to hear his words. The young prince took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and forced his face into a hard mask. 

He marched into the building. 

Itzal moved away, settling on the other side to give the humans more room in the narrow space. He already knew what was within. After encountering the spirit trapped here, he sought to uncover where she’d died. 

He hadn’t stopped until he found her. 

When he did, he hadn’t been able to do anything for her. His new body was too large to fit where she had perished, but he’d been able to see it through the cracks. Her skeleton was hunched over the forms of a dozen other ones that were more than half of her size. All of them were recognizable as human, their bones still linked by lingering cartilage.  The woman had traces of long strands of dark hair over her shoulders. Orange robes still clung to their little bodies. 

Caught in a tableau, their death painted a gruesome tale. Clearly, they knew that they were going to die but the woman still tried to protect them, giving the children their last embrace. One that would last for a century. 

A strangled, horrified gasp came through the now-open doorway. Seconds later Zuko bolted out of the building and promptly lost his lunch in a corner behind a withered tree. Alarmed, the soldiers looked at the bodies, palling at the sight. Itzal figured that the only reason that they also didn’t throw up was that they experienced worse on the battlefield. The smell of burning flesh was certainly more nausea-inducing. 

Itzal watched without remorse as Iroh went over to comfort the young prince, patting his back and offering hollow platitudes. Zuko leaned into his uncle for a brief moment shaking him off. Whipping his mouth with his sleeve, the boy turned back to Itzal. 

“Those were children,” he croaked.

Itzal nodded. 

“They were scared,” Zuko rasped, a waiver to his voice. 

Itzal wasn’t surprised that his younger self had picked up on that. From himself hiding in the hidden servant walkways when his father had been angry with him, there was no doubt that Zuko recognized what cowering looked like. And these bodies were kept in the perfect condition to show that fear. Without animals able to reach them to scavenge, the bodies haven't moved since their death. It was like they were looking at a moment frozen in time. A terrible moment that captured one of the horrors of the world. 

Itzal scoffed, not allowing any empathy to bleed into his voice. “Of course they were scared. Men came and slaughtered their friends and family. The adult brought them down here to hide.” He jerked his chin towards the building. “You can clearly see how well that worked out for them. They were found and trapped. What was supposed to be their refuge became their tomb.”

Zuko made a retching sound, a hand over his mouth. Iroh reached for him but stopped when Zuko didn’t bring anything else up. 

Itzal watched them without pity. “Do these look like the bodies of soldiers?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Zuko shook his head. 

Itzal nodded, opening one wing to sweep around the surrounding area. “This place was not a stronghold, a keep or a military location in any sense of the word. None of the Temples were. They were men, women and children who wouldn’t even butcher a chicken if they were hungry. The attack was cruel and it was wrong.”

This time, Zuko didn’t deny it. 

Satisfied that his message was at least heard, Itzal left them there. Flapping his wings, he launched himself out of the gorge, twisting up into the open air.

It wasn’t over, not by a long shot but Itzal knew that the boy needed time to think. The only one that could truly change Zuko’s mind was himself, and forcing the issue wouldn’t do any good. 

Landing gently on the plateau with the grave marker, Itzal sighed. Laying down on the sun-warmed stone, he looked down at the valleys between the mountain peaks. It was so peaceful, a gentle wind rustling his mane. The sound of birds reached his ears and turned towards the sound to see a family of little dust balls picking at the seeds dropped from the small trees that were valiantly growing in a half-destroyed garden patch. 

He was still watching them when a somewhat familiar presence settled beside him. 

“So that’s who you were waiting for.”

Turning away from the birds, Itzal sighed through his nose, rumbling in acknowledgement. “Give him time. He can be better,” he promised. 

The hum that the spirit gave was noncommittal. “You would know.”

Closing his eyes, he withheld his instinctual sharp retort. “Measuring him against me is not a fair assessment.”

The spirit scoffed. “And why not? You’re the same person.”

“No, we are not. Not anymore. I’ve already changed things too much. He is not me and I am not him. He will grow and change in ways that I never did.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I can’t,” he growled. “All I can do is hope and be there for him. Isn’t that what you did for your own young?” 

A pause of silence answered him and she didn’t address that point again. Instead, she changed the subject. 

“You led them to us.”

Finally turning away from the view spanning below them, he swung his head around so he could look at the spirit. She was standing beside him on the stone bluff. The children were tangled in her skirts, their silhouettes fainter than her already thin visage. 

“I did,” he agreed slowly, sensing a trap. 

“Ah, yes. It’s a lovely feeling; knowing that your remains are being used to teach the new generation,” she commented with a pleasant cadence, devoid of her earlier spite. It was a trap. He knew it was simmering just under the surface. 

He swore colourfully in his head. “That’s not what I wa—”

She cut him off with a sharp, dismissive hand motion. “I am well aware it wasn’t your intention, but know this, ashmaker, if that boy doesn't learn from this then I will haunt you for the rest of your natural sunrises,” she spat.

Itzal’s ears folded back at being called a ‘boy’. She didn’t look any older than him before travelling in time! Granted, she’d spent a century suspended in limbo. He really didn’t know how time worked for spirits. She very well could still be his age mentally. 

“He will,” Itzal promised. 

“He better,” she snarled, appearing remarkably dragon-like for the spirit of a dead human airbender. She opened her mouth to start a new sentence but cut herself off with a soft gasp. 

“Oh,” she breathed, looking down at her skirts. “Yuna, honey, are you—”

“The death rites,” one of the children said with a reverent whisper. “Someone is giving us death rites.”

“I feel so light,” another child commented, looking down at his hands. They were pale and faded. 

“What does that mean?” Itzal demanded, ready to spring up and defend them if they were being attacked. 

The children were losing even more shape and opacity, turning into mere wisps on the wind. Those that were stuck in the folds of her skirt were wiggling free, maybe for the first time in a hundred years. The spirit helped them, her worlds and touch gentle as she pulled her essence away from theirs. 

Once the first one managed to separate the child laughed gleefully, kicking themselves off of the cliff and into the air. The others followed just as quickly as they could, dancing in the open air. One even did a front flip.

Then, as quickly as they first appeared, they vanished, leaving Itzal and the Spirit alone on the stone cliff. 

Ah, he knew what was happening. Relaxing, Itzal glanced back at the spirit, only to jump out of his scales. Her form flickered, going in and out of visibility before coming back. Any lingering sign of her death was gone, her fingers lacking the blackened, scorched tips, nails broken. Her skin cleared and she regained some volume in her hair.

Fresh tears dripped down her cheeks.

“Uh—um, are you—” he floundered, his whiskers twitching panicky.

What did he do? He wasn’t good with women crying. Anyone crying, to be honest. 

“Oh,” she said again, staring at where the children had disappeared. She sniffed but didn’t bother to wipe away her tears. They glistened like ice in the sun. 

“Um, are you alright?” he asked tentatively once he got his tongue under control. That’s what you say, right? Mai never liked him seeing her cry. Any hint of weakness was snuffed out quickly, hidden behind a cool mask. Neither of them knew how to be vulnerable. 

“Yes, more then,” she said with a wet laugh. “I’m free. Free for the first time in decades. I’m wonderful.” The smile she gave him was warm and soft, completely opposed to her previous attitude. 

He blinked down at her, his ears pricked and he tilted his head to the side. That was…an abrupt shift. She’d been so angry, so bitter, stewing in resentment for so long that she probably would have been consumed by it if it had gone on for much longer. 

This was the power of proper prayer, he realized, eyeing the sheer level of relief on her face. Observing her features now, he wondered if he got her age wrong and if she was a little younger than him. Her shoulders were lower, relaxed and lacking the tension that had kept her so stiff. Her face was smooth and tilted upwards so the wind caught her loose hair, gently swaying it in the breeze.

“I’m glad,” he told her sincerely. He settled back into a comfortable position, relaxing bunched muscles.

The ghost gave him a look. “You knew this would happen,” she accused, but it lacked the very real bite she’d had before.

His whiskers curling, he shrugged. “So he did it properly? The funeral rites?”

She shot him a look, an amused curl to her lips. Yeah, she didn’t buy his nonchalant attitude at all. “Hmm. The words and actions were a little different but a hundred years is a long time. So much has been lost. He’s done his research well.”

“He has very little else to do but research,” Itzal huffed with amusement. “Before coming here he would have stopped at the Western Air Temple. He picked them up there. After all, your brothers and sisters there didn’t have any earthbenders to set them to rest.”

The spirit frowned, tilting her head back so she was looking at his face. “If he saw the bodies at the Western Temple, why did he believe that we were a military base?”

“Denial,” Itzal admitted with a reluctant rumble. “Once is a tragedy, twice is a coincidence, three times—”

“Is a pattern,” the spirit finished with him. 

He nodded. “This is only the second time, but here I am also saying that he’s wrong. It sums up as the same thing." Hopefully, he grumbled mentally. 

The Spirit absorbed that. “Still, you expected this. You knew that if you showed us to him he would perform the funeral rites.”

When he nodded again, she laughed.

“I misjudged you, Little Fire Lord. Perhaps I was too harsh,” she added more softly, settling down on the stone into a perfect seiza, brushing her hands over the cloth of her skirts. 

Itzal huffed and shook his head. “While your apology is appreciated, it is unneeded. I am the last person to judge when someone has a quick temper,” he added ruefully. 

She snorted, one sleeve coming up to cover the bottom half of her face. “Considering that boy is your younger self, I’m inclined to believe you.”

He chuffed. “He was being loud, wasn’t he?”

“Oh, enough to wake the dead,” she agreed. 

Itzal choked on his laugh and glared at the mischievous smirk barely hidden behind her sleeve. Her eyes gave it away, the edges crinkled and dancing with mirth. 

He rolled his eyes, forgoing propriety if she was. After their limited interactions, mostly consisting of barbs and hostility, he nearly forgot that Air was playful; free in a way that Fire was not. 

“How long have you had that ready in the back of your head?” he asked.

“Oh not too long,” she demurred, a soft smile on her face. He didn’t believe it for a second. 

His tail flicked with his amusement, lightly tapping the ground. They continued to chat for a while longer, speaking of nothing significant. As the sun moved through the sky, a natural, comfortable silence fell over them. They watched it as it started to dip toward the horizon, painting the world in different shades of violet and pink. The Spirit was still beside him, having shifted to a cross-legged pose, her hands folded in her lap. It was one that he had seen Aang adopt whenever he was meditating. 

Watching her from the corner of his eye, Itzal noticed that her form hadn’t changed, unlike those of the children. He could still see through her, yet she was more there than the children had been. 

“Why are you still here?” he asked. 

She blinked out of her reverie to arch a brow. “Are you telling me to leave?”

“What? No—I was just—you’re mocking me,” he realized, his ears falling to half-mast in his exasperation. 

She giggled, covering her mouth, which did nothing to stop him from knowing she was laughing at him. From the way she laughed harder when she glanced at him, he guessed that his reaction was just as funny. 

He rolled his head and flicked his tail so the furred tip lightly hit her back. 

She snorted with mirth and shot a blast of air at his face. He jerked back and his mane was suddenly covering his eyes, blocking his vision. Shaking his neck like an ostrich-horse, he shook it free. 

“I’m not sure,” the Spirit admitted, stopping any retaliation that he might have had. “The children…they told me that they had always felt untethered to this world. I was the one keeping them trapped,” she said, her previous levity draining away abruptly. 

“No,” Itzal denied immediately. “If you were, they wouldn’t have passed on without you.”

“How can you be so sure?” she asked, her voice soft and quiet. Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. “I was supposed to protect them. I was their teacher, the closest that we come to parents—mothers,” she added, putting her hand on her lower stomach. He wondered abruptly if she had borne any of the children she’d been protecting. 

“No,” Itzal denied again, more sure than ever that she was wrong. “The only reason they hadn't passed on years ago was the lack of guidance. Same for you.”

She hummed, spinning a rosary around her wrist. Her fingers danced over the beads, clutching each one before moving on to the next, just like she probably had done a hundred times before during prayer. 

“Either way, they were lost, stuck here without any way to the Spirit World. Now, with the way shown to them…” she trailed off with a shake of her head. 

“But not you,” he prompted, settling lower so he was closer to her eye level. 

She sighed. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head into the wind, her chest expanding deeply with a lung-filling inhale. He wasn’t sure if she needed to do that anymore, but he suspected it was for comfort. 

“No. I feel strangely connected to this world, despite being dead. I thought that was because we were not put to rest, but…”

He chuffed a hum, mulling that over. What she was saying felt familiar, and it tickled the back of his mind. Looking closer at it, he allowed his thoughts to follow the memories it was trying to connect. Finally, he figured it out. 

“Have you ever heard of The Painted Lady?”

Opening her eyes again, she turned her head, a frown wrinkled her brow tattoo. “I have not,” she said, her tone clearly communicating that she had no idea where he was going with that line of thought. 

Ignoring her questioning gaze, he nodded. “She’s a Guardian Spirit to a town in the Fire Nation. It’s built on water; literally built in the middle of a slow river. It’s on stilts, the whole town is connected by boat and wooden walkways. Anyway, to them, The Painted Lady cures the sick and heals their wounds.”

The Spirit quirked a brow. “And…that’s false?”

Itzal shook his head, snorting warm air. “No, she’s very real. Ka—” he cut off, closing his eyes briefly to hide the pain thinking about his friends brought. He pushed it to the side and opened his eyes again, resolutely continuing. “One of my companions encountered her once. But the Painted Lady was restricted on what she could and couldn’t do. The whole town was being poisoned by a factory upriver. The pollution it was creating flowed down towards them, killing all of the fish. They were starving. 

“My friend couldn’t leave them like that. She stepped in, secretly curing as many people as she could, something that the Painted Lady wasn’t doing. Not because she didn’t want to, but because curing small ills is one thing; cleansing a whole town is another.” 

He paused then looked directly at the spirit. “My point is that the Painted Lady used to be human.”

She drew in a sharp breath, her gaze snapping to his. 

“Yeah,” he agreed before elaborating, “She was a water bender from the Southern Water Tribe. I’m unsure how old she is, but she lived long before either of us. I think she liked to travel, curing those that needed it. Somehow, she made her way to that village, where she stayed to cure a sickness that had spread. She eventually caught the illness herself and succumbed to it, but not before saving dozens of people. The town buried her with their families, memorializing her as their Guardian Spirit.”

“And you think that’s what happened to me,” the Spirit summarized. 

“Do you have a better idea?”

She expelled a gust of air. “No. It’s just…I’m nobody. I’m just one of the thousands slaughtered needlessly that day. No one should know me. Besides, I've never managed to leave this place. How can I be a Guardian Spirit to a place devoid of people?” she asked, her head lowering so she was looking down at her hands. They were curled into fists in her lap, her knuckles shaking with the tension. 

Itzal’s heart went out to the woman. His situation hadn’t been the same, but he knew the feeling of isolation that must be eating her from the inside. To be cut off from everything that was familiar—painfully so. He didn’t wish it for anyone. 

“Do you still feel tethered to this place?” he asked instead of voicing his previous thought. 

Her mouth turned down, she looked at him. At her expectant look, she huffed and closed her eyes. “Oh,” she said and opened them again. “Oh. No, I don’t. Not anymore.”

Itzal grinned, pulling his lips back just enough to show teeth. “Then you have a whole world to explore.”

The stunned look on her face was a joy to watch morph into a soft smile, small and hesitant. “You’re right,” she said with a tiny laugh. “After all of this time, I never thought I’d be agreeing with someone from the Fire Nation.”

Itzal’s smile fell, a little stung by the comment. But…he understood what she was trying to say. A hundred years was a long time to be saturated with hate.

“Things will get better,” he promised. 

“I’ll hold you to that. Make sure that the Idiot Prince learns his lessons well.”

He scoffed but nodded, accepting the criticism. His younger self was being a bit of a brat. 

“What will you do now?” he inquired. 

She hummed. Lifting herself up into the air and onto her feet, she stepped closer to the cliff’s edge. “Well. You were right about one thing; I have a whole world to explore now. I’m no longer limited to my tomb.” 

Morbid, but true. 

“Good luck,” he told her, genuinely wishing her well. 

She grinned. “Keep your luck—you need it more than me.”

He snorted. Well, she wasn’t wrong. 

“Perhaps we’ll meet again,” she continued, turning away from the horizon to smile at him. 

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “It was nice to meet you…”

“Xiulan,” she told him, a small, genuine smile on her face. “I was called Xiulan.”

He dipped his neck in a bow, one between equals. “Well met, Xiulan. I am known as Itzal Fènghuáng.” 

“Well met indeed,” she told him with a laugh. A strong gust swirled around her and she vanished in a whirlwind. 

Itzal was left alone on the bluff with only a grave marker as company. 

A degree of the sun had passed before the humans found him again. Any chatter that had been going on fell silent when they caught sight of him. 

Ignoring them, Itzal kept his eyes closed as he soaked in the steadily waning sunlight. 

Iroh was the one to approach him first, his sandals softly tapping on the stone. Once Itzal was looking at him, the man offered a quick bow in greeting. Itzal acknowledged it with his own, curious as to what he wanted. 

Without speaking, Iroh held out a hand, his eyes flicking to Itzal’s whisker. Realizing what he wanted, Itzal placed the closest one in his open palm.

“Was that really necessary,” the old general whispered under his breath, barely audible. 

Itzal blinked, momentarily confused. Glancing at the other humans, he caught sight of Zuko. The boy was subdued, quieter and more solemn than he thought was possible for the kid. 

Ah. “Yes, it was,” he answered Iroh mentally, returning his attention to the man. Doing so meant that the others wouldn’t be able to hear him, which was no doubt what Iroh was going for. 

Iroh’s eye twitched. “He did not need to see that,” he argued.

“Would you rather it be a fresh corpse?” Itzal demanded. “Or one partially rotted with maggots eating out their eyes?”

Iroh stared him down, which Itzal returned before a sharp pain flared from his whisker, where Iroh’s grip tightened. Itzal only twitched, not allowing the man to see the pain it was causing. He doubted that Iroh was even aware he was clutching it that tightly. He wasn’t the kind of man to cause needless pain. 

Itzal bore it silently, despite how sharply uncomfortable it was. Uncle had done so much for him, weathering everything that Itzal threw at him; the least he could do was shoulder some of Iroh’s burden. 

He knew he was being cruel, but unfortunately, he wasn’t being unrealistic. He knew (hoped) that it would never happen now, but he’d seen far worse than bones of long dead airbenders floating on ocean waves, being eaten by sea creatures. He didn’t like thinking about those two weeks floating on a raft.  

“Of course not,” Iroh hissed quietly. “No one deserves that. He’s only a boy. I only agreed to bring him here because you said it would be empty.”

“I thought it was,” Itzal shot back. “My plan was the one we spoke of. I was just going to show him the grave marker, but someone wouldn’t allow me entry without making her presence known. I didn’t know they were here until she told me.”

The colour under Iroh’s beard slowly drained away as Itzal ranted. His tight grip loosened, and the pain vanished. 

“She? They were still here?”

Itzal snorted. “Yes. One of the children plucked a scale from my side,” he complained, jerking his chin toward where he could feel the empty spot. It would grow back eventually. 

“Children?” Iroh repeated. 

“Yes? The woman wasn’t the only one that was missed,” Itzal pointed out dryly. 

“Ah.”

“Uncle?” Zuko’s voice broke through the uncomfortable air between the two of them. 

Iroh stood straighter, glancing back at his nephew. The boy was shifting his gaze from Itzal and Iroh, his subdued expression slowly morphing into a protective scowl. Itzal shifted into a more laid-back pose, loosening the muscles that had tightened on his back and allowing his fur to lay flat. He rearranged his wings so they were folded more loosely. 

Iroh quickly dawned a genial smile. “Yes?”

Zuko scowled, clearly sensing the mood of their conversation. “What were you talking about?” he demanded. 

Iroh opened his mouth, ‘nephew’ half-formed but Itzal spoke over him. “A minor disagreement of a spiritual matter.” He knew that Iroh would say something that would lighten their situation. His own uncle had only stopped doing that when the Avatar reappeared and there was a high chance of Ozai getting control of him again. 

Which happened anyway but that’s neither here nor there. 

The point being; Itzal could not afford to treat the little prince with kid gloves. Yes, he knew that Zuko was a kid, but the world was never going to treat him that way. 

Zuko’s brow furrowed. “What’s wrong now?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Itzal cocked his head at the sheer level of aggravation in the teenager's voice. 

“Nothing, Prince Zuko,” Iroh cut in, ignoring the glance Itzal sent him. 

Zuko’s expression darkened, the frown pulling at his mouth morphing into something more suspicious. Despite this, he let it go surprisingly quickly. Inhaling deeply, his arms tightened and he hunched forwards. 

“They’re taken care of,” he told them in a small, but terse voice. 

It took a moment for Itzal to realize what Zuko was talking about. “You mean the bodies?” he clarified. 

Zuko’s nose wrinkled and he looked down. He nodded. 

Itzal rumbled a hum. Bringing his feet underneath him, he heaved himself up and onto all fours. “I knew that the moment they did,” he admitted, looking down at the stone grave marker. 

“What does that mean?” Zuko asked gruffly. The tap of his shoes on the stone told Itzal that the boy was coming over to see what Itzal was looking at. His sharp inhale marked the moment when he saw the inscription. 

Iroh cleared his throat pointedly. “Nephew, you know what happens to the dead that do not receive a vigil?” he prompted. 

There was a beat of silence as the prince thought that over. 

“Their ghosts are still here?!” he screeched.

Itzal leaned away from the painful volume, resisting the urge to flatten his ears. “Not anymore,” he answered, swinging his head around to stare directly at the kid. “Thank you; they can rest now.”

His face white, Zuko swallowed thickly and nodded. Still, there was a confused slant to his face. “But it’s been a hundred years. Why—” he cut himself off, his eyes widening. 

“Because there was no one left to perform the rites,” Itzal answered, despite knowing that he’d already come to that conclusion. 

Silence met his statement, no one knowing what to say. 

Finally, it was broken by someone clearing his throat. “Your Highnesses,” Lieutenant Jee said, drawing all of their attention. He and Ayumi had been keeping their distance, giving the royals their privacy while still doing their jobs. The older soldier faltered briefly when Itzal’s gaze also landed on him, but he recovered quickly. “With the sun so close to setting, we don’t have time to return to the ship unless we travel in the dark. What are your orders?”

Odd, Itzal rumbled to himself, eyeing how Jee was watching the prince. Lieutenant Jee hadn’t really answered him at all until that storm when he put the lives of the crew before his need to capture the Avatar. When he was sixteen. Before that, he would direct questions to him but look towards his uncle for the actual orders. He wasn’t willing to put his life or his men into the hands of a teenager. 

Yet…now he wasn’t. 

What changed?

Clearly, Zuko was wondering the same thing because he was squinting at the old sailor. His gaze flicking away, he glanced at Itzal, the grave marker, then back at the settlement just visible behind Lieutenant Jee. Drawing himself up, Zuko inhaled steadily. He pushed his shoulders back and lifted his chin. 

“Set up camp. I want to see what was left behind here before we leave,” he ordered. 

“Sir.” The two soldiers bowed with the flame and left. 

Zuko watched them leave, his shoulders falling the moment they couldn’t see him anymore. Lifting his hands, he rubbed his face, wincing when he brushed his fresh scar. 

Wordlessly, he looked back down at the grave marker. Slowly, he moved in front of it, gently starting to tidy the area. He pried off the moss, putting it elsewhere and pulling up the weeds. He brushed the dirt away then knelt in prayer, his hands cupped in his lap. 

Itzal watched as Iroh took all of this in, carefully not reacting when he saw the pride and love painted over his uncle's face. The older man’s weathered face was soft and his eyes shone with his approval. He reached a hand out to his nephew’s shoulder but held himself back. Instead, he took the spot beside the boy, also kneeling in vigil. The only thing missing were the white robes and a flame to guild the dead. 

They stayed like that, neither moving. 

Itzal left them there, unwilling to watch them while his throat clogged with unshed tears. He didn’t expect the blatant love to affect him so much. 

If this continued, if he never got over this, the next few years were going to be torture.