Chapter Text
Back in the Fire Nation…
The night was late.
The moon hung high over the volcanic peaks of the Fire Nation, casting a pale silver glow over the capital city. The streets were mostly quiet, save for the occasional clink of armor as patrols passed through, their torches casting flickering shadows across the crimson-tiled rooftops.
In the streets, cloaked in shadows, a lone figure moved with purpose. General Iroh—though stripped of any command for now—walked silently along the edge of the harbor, hood drawn up, eyes scanning the dark silhouettes of docked ships. He had evaded the night patrols, ducking down alleys and moving with the grace of someone who had once led armies through enemy territory.
He ducked into a nearby tea shop, one of the few still open near the docks. Inside, the warm light flickered gently off the worn wooden walls. A few rugged-looking sailors and off-duty guards sat around tables, sipping steaming cups and throwing dice.
He took a glance around, and saw a man—A fire nation soldier off of duty, playing Pai Sho alone. But he was not just playing, he looked like he was struggling to understand the game.
Yet Iroh told himself something he hoped he would never speak in his mind—
‘Don’t get distracted.’
He’s disobeying the Fire Lord by getting himself in a mission he assigned himself in. And that mission is to find Zuko. But in order to do that, he needs a crew.
But… One game of Pai Sho couldn’t hurt, right?
Iroh stood still for a long moment at the entrance of the shop, torn between duty and the comforting familiarity of Pai Sho. The scent of roasted tea leaves and old wood lingered in the air, and the subtle clack of the tiles on the table beckoned like an old friend calling from across a battlefield.
With a resigned sigh and a faint smile tugging at his lips, he walked over to the man fumbling with the Pai Sho board.
"First time?" Iroh asked casually as he pulled out the chair opposite the man.
"Oh no, my second and possibly last." The soldier confirmed.
Iroh chuckled softly and sat down. "Ah, well then, you're already wiser than most beginners. Most lose three times before they realize they’re playing it all wrong."
The soldier looked up, startled, then shrugged sheepishly. “I don’t know why I keep trying. My old squad leader used to say Pai Sho reveals the soul of a man… but mine must be upside down.”
Iroh reached for the tiles, gently adjusting their positions. “Sometimes it just takes a little guidance. The game, like life, is about balance, not control.” His fingers moved deftly, rearranging the soldier’s scattered pieces into a more coherent pattern. “Tell me, have I caught your name?"
"Lieutenant Jee." The soldier—now identified as Lieutenant Jee—answered. "I run the crew of the 41st division. What about you, old man?"
Iroh smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Just a humble lover of tea and Pai Sho,” he replied. “Though some call me Iroh.”
Jee’s eyebrows lifted in recognition, his casual posture straightening. “Wait—General Iroh? The Dragon of the West?”
Iroh gave a soft chuckle and waved his hand dismissively. “Former general. And presently, just a man looking for something… someone.”
Jee’s eyes narrowed. He lowered his voice. “You're not here on official business, are you?”
Iroh leaned forward slightly, his tone matching Jee’s. “Let’s say I’m acting under personal conviction, not orders. My nephew… Prince Zuko, has been cast out. I intend to find him before the Fire Lord’s cruelty finishes what it started.”
Jee looked around the tea shop, making sure no one was listening. The patrons were too drunk or distracted to care. “Yeah good luck with that. From what I heard, the prince is presumed dead after his banishment."
Iroh’s face tightened at those words, though he kept his expression calm. “Presumed by whom?” he asked, his voice quiet, measured.
Jee hesitated. “Word spreads quickly in back channels. It was said that the prince wandered miles, and because of his lack of experience, his story was cut then and there."
ee’s words hit Iroh like a cold gust of wind through the warm haze of the tea shop. He stared into his cup for a long moment, steam curling between his fingers. The idea that Zuko might already be gone—that his journey had ended in silence and solitude—was a thought he could not bear.
But he would not allow it to be true.
“He’s not dead,” Iroh said at last, his voice firm as steel beneath silk. “He’s too stubborn to die.”
Jee looked him over again, eyes sharp now. “You really believe that?”
“I know it.”
A heavy silence fell between them, broken only by the distant clatter of dice at another table. Finally, Jee leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.
“So. If it's a crew you want, a crew you now have."
Iroh looked up from his tea, surprise softening his brow. “That quickly?”
Lieutenant Jee gave a small shrug, glancing at the worn shoulder pad of his uniform. “I served under your command once during the Siege of Ba Sing Se, remember? You led us through the Lower Ring and kept us breathing when we should’ve been corpses. If you ask for a ship and crew, you’ll have it—no questions asked.”
The former general allowed himself a quiet, grateful smile. “Then you have my thanks, Lieutenant Jee. And my respect.”
Jee leaned in slightly. “But if we’re going to do this, we have to be careful. If the Fire Lord finds out you're assembling a crew to search for his banished son…”
“He won’t,” Iroh said simply. “Because no one will report it.”
Jee raised an eyebrow. “You’re very confident.”
“I’m very old,” Iroh replied dryly. “Old enough to know how to move unseen—even in the heart of my brother’s empire.”
Jee smirked, then stood. “My ship—the Wandering Flame—is docked just west of here. She’s not the fastest vessel in the fleet, but she’s reliable. My men trust me, and if I tell them we’re running a supply operation to isolated colonies… they’ll follow. No questions asked.”
“Good,” Iroh said, rising from his chair. He left a few coins on the table for the tea. “I must grab scrolls and maps. We leave as soon as possible."
---
The harbor was quieter than usual as a thick fog began to roll in from the sea, cloaking the docks in a veil of gray mist. Lanterns swung softly on wooden posts, their flickering light casting long, wavering shadows. Iroh stood near the edge of the water, his cloak drawn tight against the chill air. Beside him stood Lieutenant Jee, who gestured toward a medium-sized vessel docked discreetly at the far end.
“There she is,” Jee said. “The Wandering Flame. She’s not pretty, but she’ll get us where we need to go.”
Iroh gave a slow, approving nod. The ship was modest, but sturdy. More importantly, it looked unimportant—perfect for slipping away without drawing attention.
"Uncle!"
Iroh gets startled by the very recognizable voice.
He turned, eyes wide in disbelief.
Standing just beyond the lantern’s flickering edge was a young woman cloaked in deep crimson and gold—hair tied in a tight bun, posture sharp and defiant as ever.
“Azula?” Iroh said, surprised but guarded. “What are you doing here?”
Azula stepped forward, arms crossed, golden eyes gleaming. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice my uncle sneaking around the capital? You forget what father teaches me.”
Iroh’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been spying on me.”
“I’ve been watching,” Azula corrected, her voice cool and precise. “You also forget that father placed you under a close eye for a reason. I'm not stupid uncle."
Jee instinctively placed a hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword, but Iroh gently raised a hand, signaling him to stand down.
Azula’s gaze flicked to Jee, sharp and dismissive. “Lieutenant. Still clinging to failed generals, are we?”
Jee stiffened but said nothing. Iroh stepped forward calmly. “Princess Azula, whatever suspicions you’ve drawn, this doesn’t concern you.”
“Oh, but it does,” she replied, stepping into the lantern’s light, her expression unreadable. “My dear uncle defying a direct order from my father? Harboring treasonous thoughts about retrieving a banished prince presumed dead? It’s practically treason. And treason always concerns me.”
Iroh met her gaze evenly. “I’m simply delivering supplies to remote colonies. If I happen to pass near the last known location of my nephew… that would be coincidence.”
Azula’s smile was cold and curved like the edge of a blade. “You never were a good liar, Uncle. Not like me.”
She stepped closer, her boots clinking lightly against the wooden planks of the dock. “It's not worth anything to go find Zu-zu, you know. He got his punishment in the end. Go after him, Me and the entire Fire Nation go after your head. And we don't want that, do we?"
Iroh stood his ground, his expression unwavering despite Azula’s words. The fog rolled in thicker now, cloaking much of the harbor in a sea of gray. Only the lanterns and the flame in Iroh’s eyes remained clearly visible.
“I am not afraid of what the Fire Nation will do to me, Azula,” he said quietly. “But I am afraid of what we have become.”
Azula scoffed. “Spare me the philosophy. You’re walking into a storm, Uncle. If you go through with this, you’ll be an enemy of the crown.”
Iroh tilted his head slightly. “Then perhaps the crown should be more careful with how it treats its family.”
For just a flicker—a heartbeat—something flashed across Azula’s face. Hesitation? Doubt? Pain? But it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced once again by her perfected, cruel smirk.
“I’ll give you one chance,” she said, her tone now laced with challenge. “Turn back now. Forget about Zuko. Pretend he never existed.”
Jee tensed again, but Iroh’s voice cut through the stillness with calm, measured strength.
“No.”
The silence that followed was heavier than any roar of fire or clashing swords. Even the sea seemed to hold its breath.
Azula’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Oh well. Don't say I didn't warn you. NOW!!"
From the shadows behind her, several cloaked Fire Nation agents stepped out—spies, elite guards, the kind who answered only to Azula or Ozai himself. They blocked the path back to the main dock, closing in with smooth, synchronized precision.
Jee’s sword was already halfway out of its sheath. “Trap,” he muttered through gritted teeth.
Iroh didn’t move. His eyes were still on Azula.
““You came prepared,” he said calmly.
“I always do,” Azula replied, stepping back with theatrical grace. “Father said if you ever stepped out of line, I had his full permission to deal with it.”
"Knowing you, this is exactly the kind of behavior I would expect from you." Iroh said, tone still steady, eyes narrowing just slightly.
Azula’s smirk grew at Iroh’s remark, but it was tight—calculated. “Then you should’ve expected this outcome,” she said, flicking her hand with casual elegance.
The guards stepped closer.
“Hold,” Iroh said calmly, not to the guards—but to Azula. His hands remained at his sides, unthreatening, yet he radiated control like a mountain before a storm. “I know you’re not here just for obedience,” he said, watching her carefully. “You want something. You always do.”
Azula tilted her head slightly. “What I want,” she replied, “is order. And right now, you’re chaos. Sentimental, soft-hearted, foolish chaos.”
Iroh’s brows lifted ever so slightly. “I’m not the one ambushing family at the harbor in the middle of the night.”
“No. You’re the one sneaking onto a ship to go chase after a disgrace,” Azula snapped, her smile thinning. “He’s been a pathetic nothing since the moment he took his first breath, and you think you know better?”
“I do,” Iroh said firmly. “Because unlike you and your father, I still care.”
A sharp silence followed. The air was tense enough to shatter.
Azula took a long, slow breath. “Very well, Uncle. If you won’t back down…” she turned and raised her hand. “I’ll just have to—”
BOOM!
An explosion rocked the dock—smoke billowed out from a far warehouse as a burst of flame lit up the night sky. Shouts erupted from the direction of the barracks.
The guards near Iroh and Jee faltered, startled. Azula turned sharply, eyes blazing. “What in—”
“That,” Iroh said with a satisfied smile, “would be the distraction I asked for.”
Jee seized the moment. “Quick!” he barked, unsheathing his blade. With precision, he kicked a barrel into the legs of the nearest guard and lunged toward the ship ramp.
Iroh moved with surprising speed for his age, sweeping an attacker’s feet with one swift motion before sending a precise, controlled burst of flame into the air—just enough to disorient the rest.
Azula growled, “After them! Don’t let them reach the—!”
But it was too late. Iroh and Jee dashed up the ramp as the gangplank slammed onto the ship’s deck.
“Raise anchor!” Jee shouted to his men, who had already been briefed for a hasty departure.
The ship pulled away, sails catching the wind. Azula stood at the edge of the dock, fists clenched in fury as the Wandering Flame drifted into the misty sea.
She didn’t scream. She didn’t shout. She just watched… eyes burning with fury.
“You’ll regret this, Uncle…” she muttered. “You’ll regret this.”