Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Day of Black Sun had gone wrong. Horribly, miserably wrong. The weight of failure hung heavy in the thick, smoky air, settling on Zuko like a suffocating shroud.

Zuko stood in the heart of the Fire Nation royal bunker, a cold cavern carved from dark stone and lit only by flickering torches. Shadows danced across the walls, twisting and stretching like living things. Before him, the ghost of a man he had once begged to please loomed—his father, the Fire Lord, his figure cloaked in smoke and shadow, eyes sharp and unreadable like shards of obsidian.

The silence between them was thick and heavy, pressing down until Zuko felt his chest tighten. The stale, metallic scent of blood and ash hung in the air. Not a breath disturbed the stillness.

Zuko's breath came slowly. Measured. Controlled. Each inhale steady, grounding him in a moment that had once filled him with dread. For the first time, he didn’t let the fear win.

"I'm going to join the Avatar."

Ozai’s dark eyes narrowed. He stared at Zuko for a long moment, the air between them crackling with unspoken fury. Then he laughed—a low, curling sound that felt like hot oil sizzling against Zuko’s skin, a venomous hiss that crawled under his flesh.

"You think they'll accept you? After everything you’ve done?" Ozai said, voice cold and mocking. "You are a disgrace to your bloodline."

Zuko’s fists clenched at his sides, the skin whitening beneath his grip, but he didn’t rise to the bait.

"Maybe. But I'd rather fight for them than live like this."

His father’s smile was pure venom—sharp, cruel, and poisonous. "Then leave, traitor."

A low rumble echoed through the chamber as Ozai raised his hand, fingers splayed in a stance Zuko knew all too well. Lightning crackled to life between his fingertips—blinding, raw, searing.

But Zuko was ready.

He widened his stance, pulled in a deep breath, and lowered his center of gravity. Arms raised, eyes focused, heart still.

The lightning struck.

Zuko caught it, the bolt roaring through his arms like a living beast, and for a single second, the pain and power were one.

With a cry, he redirected it—arms sweeping in a precise arc as blue light arced back through the air and slammed into the far wall. Stone exploded in a shower of sparks and fire.

Ozai staggered, more startled than harmed, but Zuko didn’t wait to see more. He turned on his heel and ran—fast, furious, free.

The eclipse was fading as Zuko emerged from the bunker, the last shards of darkness melting into a bruised, ash-filled sky. He raced through the palace grounds—now a battlefield—dodging burning debris and leaping over shattered pillars. Guards lay dazed in craters of fire and ice. Faint cries echoed between the courtyards.

Every step was a rejection of everything he had been raised to be. Every breath drew fire into his lungs—but this time it wasn’t for destruction. It was for something more.

Then he heard it: shouting. Fire clashing with water. The sharp snap of Azula’s voice slicing through the chaos.

He sprinted toward the noise, heart pounding hard enough to drown out the sounds around him. A clearing opened ahead, bathed in flickering light and shadow, and he saw her.

Katara.

She moved like a tide—relentless and graceful. Water surged around her in whips and spirals, deflecting Azula’s deadly, erratic attacks. Zuko had never seen her fight like that—like the ocean itself was bending to her will.

But she was tiring.

Cornered, breathing hard, sweat clinging to her temples.

Then it happened. Azula moved.

Lightning crackled, bright and sudden, snapping through the air with deadly precision. Zuko saw her fingers twist, her stance drop low—and he knew.

She was going to kill Katara.

He didn’t think.

He moved.

Arms open, stance low, he tried to summon the same calm, the same control he'd wielded in the bunker. But something faltered. His breath hitched—not from fear, but from something deeper. Guilt. Conflict. And that strange tether still buzzing in his chest since their eyes had met.

He wasn’t ready.

The bolt hit him square in the chest.

Pain exploded—worse than before. White-hot, jagged pain like fire eating him alive from the inside out.

He had tried to redirect it. Tried to focus. But his body had hesitated, and his emotions had betrayed him.

Zuko collapsed, gasping, the world tilting and dimming at the edges. Distant shouting echoed like thunder. The clash of elements blurred into a dull roar.

Then came the water. A cool rush, soothing and sudden, against his scorched skin. A voice, cracked with fear.

"Zuko! Zuko, stay with me!"

Katara. Her voice was tight with panic.

He blinked. Her face hovered above his, eyes wide with something that looked like fear—and something else. Something raw and open.

She pressed her glowing hands to his chest, light pulsing beneath her fingertips. The pain dulled, but it lingered—settled deep in his muscles like coals under skin. Her fingers trembled as they poured energy into him.

"Why did you do that?" she whispered. "Why would you—?"

He wanted to speak. To explain. But his mouth refused to move.

Then everything changed.

A pulse. Deep. Ancient. Golden.

Their foreheads touched, just briefly. And in that moment, something snapped tight.

It wasn’t pain.

It was connection.

A tether. A flash of memory that wasn’t his: snowfields shimmering beneath moonlight, laughter in a village, a woman with Katara’s eyes bending water like song.

Katara gasped.

Zuko saw something, too: flames on water, a pendant melting in his palm, a mountain burning in the distance, a cradle—empty and warm.

Then it was gone.

He jerked back, heart racing, breath ragged. She stared at him, lips parted, eyes searching.

"What did you—?"

Neither of them could finish the question.

Because whatever that had been, it was still there.

Buzzing beneath their skin.

And somewhere deep inside, Zuko knew: nothing between them would ever be the same again.

He exhaled sharply—and then collapsed completely, unconscious.

Katara sat with Zuko’s head resting in her lap, the battlefield now still and smoky. Wisps curled from scorched stone like ghostly fingers. Azula had fled the moment the eclipse passed, vanishing into the shadows like the phantom she was.

Katara hadn’t followed. She couldn’t.

Her hands hovered over Zuko’s chest, though she had already done all she could. He was alive. Barely.

But she wasn’t.

Something had happened. Something unnatural. Or maybe something old—older than bending itself.

She touched her forehead, as if to scrub the phantom weight of his away. But the sensation remained. A warmth in her blood. A rhythm that wasn’t hers alone. Her thoughts tangled with foreign memories—flashes of firelight, a boy’s scream, a field she’d never stood in.

Zuko stirred slightly, breath steady now, eyes still closed. He was healing. But whatever had passed between them—that strange, golden flicker—it hadn't faded.

She pulled her hand back slowly.

What had he done?

What had they done?

She wanted to scream at him. Shake him. Ask if he felt it too.

But instead, she sat in silence, watching him breathe.

Because whatever had just passed between them—whatever bond had formed—it wasn’t something she could undo.

And that terrified her more than Azula ever had.

She stayed like that until the others found her—Toph, Sokka, Aang—all with too many questions and too little time. She barely remembered what she said, only that she refused to let them leave Zuko behind.

They carried him onto Appa. She didn’t look at him again.

Not during the flight.

Not when they landed.

Not even when she checked—quietly, secretly—that he was still breathing.

Not until days later, when he stood beneath the Western Air Temple’s overhang—alive, awake, and asking to join them.

And the moment their eyes met, something deep inside her pulsed again. That same ancient hum.

Still there.

Still tethered.

Chapter Text

The Western Air Temple lay quiet beneath a sky streaked with soft, late-afternoon clouds, the sun’s fading light filtering through ancient stone arches that had weathered centuries of storms and wars. Moss clung thick to the worn steps and crumbling pillars, carpeting the temple in deep shades of emerald and gray, the scent of damp earth and distant pine settling like a gentle shroud over the encampment.

Katara lingered at the far edge of the courtyard, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if holding herself together against an invisible chill. Her eyes traced the shifting shadows cast by the skeletal branches overhead, flickering like restless spirits across the uneven stones. A faint breeze stirred, carrying the soft rustle of leaves and the distant drip of water from a nearby spring, mingling with the faint but unmistakable scent of smoke lingering from last night’s fire.

Every breath Katara took tasted faintly of rain and ash—a bittersweet reminder of what had passed, and what now lingered unspoken between her and Zuko.

In the center of the courtyard, Zuko stood apart from the others, his posture still guarded but his stance resolute. The firelight caught the jagged scar across his face, highlighting the tension etched into his sharp features. His dark eyes flickered with something new—determination, maybe even hope—as he lowered himself into a formal bow.

“I want to join you,” he said quietly, his voice steady yet subdued, carrying more conviction than command. “I want to fight alongside you.”

Katara’s jaw clenched, the bitter taste rising in her throat sharper than before. She had not met his gaze once since the day the lightning struck them both, binding them with an ancient, inexplicable force. Instead, she stared at the cold stone beneath her feet, willing herself not to look.

From the corner of her eye, she caught the subtle movements of the others. Sokka paced near a mossy wall, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, lips pressed into a thin, doubtful line as he muttered to Toph, who lounged against the rough stone with arms crossed and a skeptical frown shadowing her sharp eyes.

“Can we really trust him? After everything?” Sokka’s words hung in the air like smoke curling from a dying flame—tenuous, uncertain.

Toph shrugged, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips. “We need firebending if we’re going to survive. If he can teach us, I’m willing to give it a shot.”

Aang sat cross-legged on a sun-warmed rock nearby, his bright eyes fixed on Zuko with an openness Katara found both comforting and infuriating. “He saved Katara,” Aang said softly. “That means he’s not just the enemy. We can’t turn him away—not if we want to win this war.”

Their voices softened further, careful to keep their conversation just out of Katara’s reach, as if knowing she was struggling to reconcile what she felt with what she feared.

Katara took a shaky breath, the cool air tasting sharp against her tongue. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms until the sting was a dull throb. She wanted to believe them. She wanted to trust him. But the past clung tight to her like a shackle.

Zuko rose from his bow, the firelight flickering over his face, revealing the tight set of his jaw. “I’m not here to betray you,” he said quietly, meeting Aang’s hopeful gaze.

Aang stood, stepping forward with the calm certainty of a leader who believed in second chances. “Then stay. Train with us. Help us prepare.”

Katara’s eyes flickered briefly to Aang, surprise softening the hardness for a fleeting moment. But she said nothing. The weight of her silence was heavier than any protest.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
That evening, far from the flickering campfires and watchful eyes of the others, Katara found herself leaning against a jagged cliff edge overlooking the endless crashing of the ocean below. The salt air stung her lungs, sharp and biting. A strange queasiness twisted deep in her gut, unfamiliar and unwelcome.

She pressed a trembling hand to the cold stone for support, feeling the invisible thread between her and Zuko pulse beneath her skin like a living thing—raw, insistent, and utterly unfamiliar. It twisted inside her, stirring a sickness that she couldn’t name.

A few cautious steps behind her, Zuko watched warily, his eyes shadowed with concern and something closer to guilt. Before he could speak, a rough sound escaped him—a dry, wrenching retch against the jagged rock.

Katara’s eyes widened, heart twisting. The proud fire prince—his regal composure shattered in a single vulnerable moment—shook something loose inside her. The guttural sound echoed in the salt air, sharp and unfiltered.

Zuko wiped his mouth with a rough hand, cheeks burning with frustration and embarrassment. “This bond… it’s like being seasick,” he muttered, voice raw and low. “Only worse.”

Katara swallowed hard, jaw tight. “I know. I can feel it, too… like our bodies are tangled up in ways I don’t understand.”

Neither of them moved closer; the invisible wall between them remained thick, tension sharp as the cliff’s edge beneath her fingertips.

Zuko shook his head with a humorless chuckle. “Great. Now I’m sick because of you.”

Katara pressed her lips into a thin line, silence her only answer. The wind tugged at her hair, carrying the distant thunder of waves—a relentless reminder of the bond they could neither deny nor control.

Back at camp, the others saw only two unlikely allies forced into uneasy alliance—a fire prince desperate for redemption, and a waterbender still wary of every move he made

The road ahead was long, and trust would have to be earned, one shaky step at a time.