-Hey guys! This is just a side project I'm working on. It won't have a regular schedule until I finish the Twilight fanfic (or if I see it gets a lot of comments). I hope you guys can check it out!
If you want to support or read some advanced chapters +3 please follow me on: patreon.com/Jayjayemp
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The heat of the dojo lit up the afternoon, making the flames dance like golden serpents across the polished floor. Ryojiro, barely five years old, sat in seiza, his small hands resting on his thin legs, amber eyes fixed on the scene before him. His breathing was steady, as if he feared breaking the spell unfolding before his eyes.
At the center, his father, General Ryozan, moved with a precision that seemed to defy time itself. Every motion was calculated, each gesture a manifestation of contained power. Facing him, his older brother, Ryota—hardly more than a teenager—kept pace with surprising mastery. Their flames intertwined in a dance of orange and red sparks, forming circles that lit up their faces and cast dancing shadows across the walls.
Ryojiro blinked, awestruck. Ryota's eyes gleamed with emotion and focus, as though he were in his element, savoring every second of practice. The fire crackled and hissed, responding to their will, shaped and twisted into impossible forms.
With timid determination, Ryojiro brought his small hands together in front of him, gathering all the concentration he could muster. A tiny flame flickered at his fingertips, wavering… trembling… and then it vanished almost instantly. He frowned, frustrated, letting out a sigh that seemed too heavy for his slight frame.
At that very moment, a particularly intense flare burst forth from Ryozan and Ryota's combined movements, bathing the room in a nearly blinding light. Ryojiro froze, caught in the magnitude of the fire, in the strength and grace with which his father and brother wielded it. For an instant, he forgot all about his failed little flame.
When the duel ended, both father and son were breathing hard, but their faces radiated satisfaction and pride. Ryozan stepped toward Ryota, clapping him firmly on the shoulder, a smile of approval lighting his face.
"Before long, you'll surpass me, son," he said with a satisfied laugh. "You're a prodigy in firebending. Keep this up, and your future as general after me is assured."
Ryota grinned broadly, his eyes shining with joy, and bowed in perfect Fire Nation style, fist pressed beneath his wrist. Ryozan returned a slight nod of approval before turning to leave the dojo.
As he walked toward the exit, he cast a sidelong glance at his other son, Ryojiro. The boy's heart gave a jolt; whenever he felt his father's gaze, a mixture of respect and fear took hold of him. Every time Ryozan looked at him, it seemed to carry a silent disappointment.
The general stopped, without turning to face him, and announced in a firm voice:
"Dress properly tonight, Ryojiro. I'll be making an important announcement at dinner…"
Ryojiro stood at once and nodded quickly, trying to hide the tangle of nerves and anxiety coiling in his chest. His father didn't wait for an answer and simply kept walking, leaving the child alone with his thoughts.
Lost in them, he barely noticed the smell of smoke filling the air. He turned his head and saw his brother Ryota holding the hem of his shirt between his fingers, a wisp of smoke curling upward. With a mischievous grin and a voice barely above a whisper, Ryota muttered:
"I thought half your shirt would be burned before you noticed, little brother…"
Ryojiro's heart leapt. Before he could react, a small flame sparked on the fabric before him. In a panic, he yanked at his shirt and slapped at the fire with trembling hands until it went out. When the flame finally disappeared, he drew in a shaky breath of relief, narrowing his eyes at his brother.
"You're an idiot, Ryota…"
Ryota let out a warm, good-natured laugh, ruffling his little brother's hair affectionately.
"I don't think so… People keep saying I'm a genius."
Then his expression softened, turning more serious. His eyes met Ryojiro's with a glow of concern and tenderness.
"Tell me, Jiro… what had you so deep in thought?"
Ryojiro hesitated, lowering his gaze to his small hands, still smudged with ash. He bit his lower lip, unsure of how to answer. But feeling his brother's attention, the wall inside him began to crack.
"It's… father," he murmured at last, voice barely audible.
Ryota tilted his head, keeping his serious expression, though his eyes held understanding.
"What about him?"
Ryojiro swallowed hard and whispered, "I don't think he ever expects anything from me. He always… always looks at you. He always praises you. But when he looks at me, I feel like… like I'm a disappointment, even without trying."
Ryota studied him in silence for a few moments, letting his brother's words linger in the air. Then, with a gentle motion, he sat beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Jiro… Father is a hard man. And yes, he expects a lot of me, but that doesn't mean you aren't important."
The boy shook his head at once, clenching his fists.
"I'm not like you. I can't make those huge bursts of fire or move the way you do. When I try… all I get is a spark."
Ryota gave a soft, crooked smile, not mocking but tender.
"Jiro, you're only five years old. You don't even know what you're good at yet. If you really want to get better at firebending, you'll have to practice a lot… And if fire isn't your path in the end, then we'll find what is. I know you have just as much talent as I—maybe more."
Ryojiro lifted his gaze, confused. "You really think so?"
"I know so," Ryota replied firmly. He tapped his little brother's chest with one finger. "There's more fire in here than you realize. And once you learn to use it… even I won't compare."
Ryojiro felt a warmth in his chest, not of fire, but of hope. For the first time, a spark of confidence lit within him, small yet more enduring than the flame that had flickered in his hand moments earlier.
Ryota stood and extended his hand. "Come on, little brother. If we don't hurry, Father will grow impatient. Besides… I want to see the look on your face when he announces what he has to say."
Ryojiro took his brother's hand and stood, a shy smile tugging at his lips. Though his father's words still weighed heavily on him, Ryota's carried more strength in his heart.
After bathing and letting the servants dress him, Ryojiro lingered in front of the mirror. The reflection staring back was that of a small boy in formal clothes, far too large for his fragile body. He studied himself in silence, trying to recognize the image, to imagine if he would ever resemble the men who had defined his bloodline.
His family, though it held a high position within the Fire Nation, was not one of ostentation. Neither his father nor his grandfather—now at rest—had ever sought unnecessary luxuries. Both were pragmatic men, forged in discipline and war. Warriors in the service of their nation, more than politicians or nobles.
To Ryojiro, both his father and grandfather were figures of iron, men who needed no adornment to command respect. The comparison made him lower his gaze. Would he ever become like them? Would he ever carry the same strength, the same presence that wrapped around them like an unquenchable fire? His lips let slip a faint sigh before he forced himself to look away from the mirror.
The mansion's hallways felt too empty despite their size. There were few servants, and the silence of deserted rooms made the boy's steps echo faintly. Sometimes, that lonely vastness weighed on him more than any training.
When he reached the dining hall, he saw his father and Ryota already seated at the long, polished wooden table. Ryozan lifted his gaze just slightly as he entered, assessing him in an instant with severe eyes, then gesturing with a brief nod for him to sit.
Nervous, Ryojiro hurried almost at a run to obey. He sat so quickly the chair creaked under the sudden weight. Ryota, seeing his clumsiness, couldn't help but chuckle, hiding it behind his hand.
Unmoved, Ryozan waited until both sons were seated. Then he straightened his back, pressing both hands firmly on the table, and with a solemn tone that filled the silent hall, began to speak.
"As you know, since your mother's death, you've had no more siblings. I myself was born an only son, and so was my father. We are all that remains of our family." He paused, sweeping his gaze across both sons as if to engrave the weight of that truth upon them.
"Under normal circumstances, that would not be a problem. We do not lack status or capital to stand out among the other generals' families in the Fire Nation. The only problem… is influence. We are beginning to lose our voice in the decisions of our Nation. If we continue on this path, others will speak for us. Weaker families… less committed to the glory of our people. That, my sons, we cannot allow."
His hand pressed against the table, as though striking an invisible blow to affirm the destiny of their line. Then, lowering his voice slightly, he went on:
"That is why it will be your duty to bring honor to our family. Wherever you go, in every circle you enter, you must gain influence. Not only with power… but with presence, achievements, and bonds that strengthen our name."
His eyes fixed on Ryota then. His severe expression softened slightly into one of satisfaction.
"My son, I am greatly pleased with your progress. You are not only a genius at firebending, but you have also secured something invaluable: a strong friendship with Prince Lu Ten. When his father, General Iroh, ascends the throne as Fire Lord, I am certain that, with his son's favor, your position will rise even further."
Ryota bowed respectfully, though a modest smile curved his lips.
"My friendship with Lu Ten was a mere coincidence, Father. We share values, and we both have much to prove. Our closeness was not born of convenience, but of mutual respect."
His words were steady, but at the end, his voice wavered slightly. Lowering his gaze, he added with a trace of doubt:
"About Lu Ten… he has been pressing his father to join the army fully. He hasn't succeeded yet, as General Iroh fears for his youth and the risks of the front lines. But I know Lu Ten… he will succeed soon. And when he does, when he enlists and marches to the battlefield… I want to go with him, Father."
The air in the dining hall grew heavier at that confession. Ryota's resolve was clear, but so was the danger within his words.
Ryozan pondered a moment, stroking his thick beard slowly, eyes locked on his eldest son at last, he spoke, his voice grave and commanding—the kind that admitted no evasion.
"I do not oppose you fighting for our Nation. On the contrary, I applaud your resolve, and I believe it would be beneficial to share the battlefield with Lu Ten. But tell me, Ryota… what are your true reasons?"
Ryota nodded slowly, straightening in his seat as though each word had to bear its own weight.
"I want to experience war firsthand," he began firmly. "My skills have advanced, yes, but I remain stuck in some areas. Some of Lu Ten's masters have told me that what I lack is real experience. And I believe I can only gain it by serving our Nation directly, by facing the risks every soldier must know."
Ryozan listened in silence, and a faint smile crept across his lips, hidden in his beard.
Encouraged, Ryota went on.
"Also… I don't want to leave Lu Ten alone. He's my best friend. I know he'll need all the help he can get out there, and I want to be by his side."
The words rang through the hall, and Ryozan's smile grew, becoming something fiercer, almost predatory.
"Excellent, son!" he thundered, slamming the table with an open palm. "That is how every citizen of this Nation should speak. You have my permission. Whenever you wish, you may enlist and serve the Empire with all your strength. And when you return, hardened by battle and with your position elevated… I will personally train you with greater dedication. That day you shall take my place as general."
Ryojiro's heart lurched. He heard every word with wide eyes, unable to hide the trembling of his hands, which he tucked beneath the table, clutching his clothes tightly. He loved his brother more than anyone… and the thought of seeing him march to the front filled him with unbearable fear. But there was something else too, something darker he wished he could bury: a sting of jealousy. Ryota's future gleamed brighter than ever, while his own felt ever dimmer in comparison.
Ryota, unaware of the storm tearing at his younger brother, merely bowed his head solemnly to his father, accepting his words with pride and humility.
Satisfied, Ryozan leaned back slightly in his seat. Then his eyes turned slowly toward Ryojiro.
With his gaze fixed on him, Ryozan spoke in a calmer, almost detached tone, like one stating an inconsequential fact.
"Now, Ryojiro… your aptitude for firebending has proven deficient. I don't know whether it is due to lack of discipline or lack of talent… but it is for you alone to correct it."
The words, though not shouted or angry, pressed down on the boy like burning coals in his chest. Ryojiro clenched his lips tightly, shutting his eyes, fighting desperately to keep any tears from falling. He wanted to be strong, at least before his father.
Ryozan paused for a moment before continuing. This time, his tone softened slightly, as though a shadow of patience slipped through his sternness.
"But you still have time to fix your shortcomings. Next week, you will enter the Royal Fire Academy for Boys. There, you must push yourself to the utmost to improve your skills. You must stand out, my son. Surround yourself with the best, and leave a strong impression on them."
The change in tone was so unexpected that Ryojiro immediately lifted his gaze, startled. The thrill of having a chance—his first real chance—swept away the urge to cry.
"I will, Father! I won't disappoint you."
A faint smile tugged at Ryozan's lips. For a fleeting instant, Ryojiro felt a different warmth in his chest, as though that small approval ignited a spark of hope within him. Even Ryota, who had stayed quiet, smiled with satisfaction at the exchange.
Ryozan continued, his voice heavy with purpose.
"And beyond that, a unique opportunity awaits you. This very year, perhaps even in your class, the son of Prince Ozai—Zuko—will enroll. He may not be a direct heir to the throne, but it will still serve you to gain influence within the royal family. I want you to work hard to befriend him. Just as your brother has done with Lu Ten, I expect you to bring greater influence to our family."
Ryojiro bowed his head at once, his reverence flawless, fist pressed into palm in the solemn Fire Nation gesture.
"I won't disappoint you, Father."
The echo of his words faded into the solemn silence of the dining hall, as the flames in the lamps flickered, as if holding their breath.