The gates of the Fire Nation stood exactly as I remembered them.
Obsidian and iron, etched with dragons frozen mid-roar, their eyes inlaid with rubies meant to intimidate enemies and reassure subjects. Heat radiated from the stone beneath my boots, familiar as breath. Home.
The army behind us shifted.
The dead did not march so much as exist—a wall of bodies and shadow stretching back along the mountain road, silent except for the soft grind of bone and the whisper of darkness threading through them. Fire Nation banners snapped above the gates, crimson and gold, trembling in the heat.
The guards stiffened when they saw us.
Good.
They should.
A captain stepped forward, hand on his spear. His eyes flicked to the dead, then to my father—now seated astride a creature of shadow—and finally to me.
"Prince Raiden," he said carefully. "The—this army—"
He swallowed.
"The Fire Nation gates are not open to—"
I killed him.
I didn't raise my voice.
Didn't hesitate.
Didn't even look angry.
Lightning slid from my hand like a thought made manifest—red-black now, threaded with shadow. It struck the captain square in the chest. There was a flash, a sound like meat hitting stone, and then he was gone. Not fallen. Not burning.
Gone.
Ash drifted down where he'd stood.
The silence that followed was absolute.
I turned to the remaining guards. Their faces had gone pale beneath their helms, eyes wide, breath shallow.
"Anyone else," I asked calmly, "have complaints?"
"No? Good. Now open the damn gates."
No one spoke.
One by one, they lowered their weapons.
Then they bowed.
The gates opened.
The dead flowed forward, spilling through the Fire Nation's defenses like ink poured into water. Citizens screamed in the distance, then went quiet as soldiers ushered them inside, sealing doors, drawing shutters.
My father laughed softly behind me.
"Well done," he said. "You learn quickly."
I didn't answer.
We entered the palace together.
The halls hadn't changed.
Polished obsidian floors reflected the firelight in molten streaks. Pillars carved with the history of our line rose toward the ceiling—conquests, treaties, dragons bound and broken. I walked the same path I had as a child, my boots echoing where smaller footsteps once had.
I remembered running these halls.
I remembered laughing.
The memories felt… distant. Like stories told about someone else.
My father walked ahead of me, his presence bending the shadows along the walls. Servants pressed themselves flat as we passed. Nobles bowed low, not daring to meet his eyes.
He didn't look at them.
He walked straight to the throne room.
The obsidian throne waited, its surface blacker than night, veins of fire pulsing faintly beneath. My father ascended the steps without ceremony and sat, spreading his hands across the armrests like a king returning to his rightful seat.
The room exhaled.
"This will do," he said. "For now."
I stood below the dais, lightning humming beneath my skin, shadows curling between my fingers like smoke.
"To conquer what remains," my father continued, "we will need more than force. We will need allies. Strategy."
He leaned forward slightly.
"And the relics."
All of them.
I nodded once. "Agreed."
His gaze sharpened. "Do you?"
"Yes," I said. "And I may know exactly who to ask."
Interest flickered across his face. "Oh?"
"Leave it with me."
He studied me for a long moment, then smiled. "Very well. Do not disappoint me again."
Again.
The word slid off me like water.
I turned and left the throne room without another word.
The corridors were darker now, lit only by torches and the glow of molten stone beneath the floors. My steps slowed—not by choice, but by something pulling at me.
A presence brushed my mind.
You intrigue me, Mortimer murmured. Who do you intend to make allies of, Lightning Prince?
I stopped.
"Stay out of my head," I said aloud, my voice echoing faintly.
A pause.
Then a soft, amused sound. You accepted my power. And with power comes costs.
I bared my teeth. "I accept your power. That does not give you permission to enter my head whenever you please."
That is exactly what it does, Mortimer replied smoothly. But I find no resistance in letting you pretend otherwise. Think freely. For now.
The pressure eased.
I exhaled through my nose and kept walking.
My feet carried me where I hadn't intended.
The garden.
My mother's garden.
The doors stood open, moonlight spilling across stone paths and flowering trees. Heat gave way to a gentler warmth. Cherry blossoms drifted through the air, pale petals glowing faintly silver beneath the moon.
I stopped at the threshold.
They're beautiful.
The words echoed in my mind.
"Yes," I said absently. "They are."
Silence.
I frowned.
I was alone.
No guards. No servants. No voice.
Yet the sound of it—soft, familiar—lingered like an echo I couldn't place.
I shook my head sharply.
Memory tricks. Nothing more.
I stepped into the garden.
The cherry trees were in full bloom, petals carpeting the ground like fallen snow. My mother had loved this place. She used to sit beneath the largest tree, hands folded in her lap, watching the petals fall.
I remembered her voice.
I remembered her laugh.
The memories flickered—and dimmed.
I turned away before they could slip further.
The palace halls swallowed me again.
By the time I reached my chambers, night had fully fallen. The moon hung high above the Fire Nation, pale and distant, its light cutting silver through the windows.
I stood there longer than I meant to.
The moon stirred something in my chest.
A pressure.
An irritation.
The girl.
She rose unbidden in my thoughts—not her face exactly, but the way she had looked at me. Defiant. Broken. Burning with something I couldn't quite name.
She had slipped away.
My fingers curled slowly.
Interesting.
Mortimer's presence stirred faintly, curious but silent.
"Wherever you are," I murmured, staring at the moon, "I will find you."
The vow settled into my bones.
"Next time," I continued, voice steady, emotionless, "you won't escape."
The moon gave no answer.
But somewhere, deep beneath the lightning and shadow, something tightened—sharp, expectant, hungry.
And I smiled.