a/n: Didn't expect me to come back so soon, did you?
Having a sense of purpose is having a sense of self. A course to plot is a destination to hope for. - Bryant H. McGill
FORGING FIRE
Chapter I
A child, barely a boy early in his teens took a deep steady breath, his gold-amber eyes snapping open with hardened determination as he settled on the opening stance.
He knew the forms, he'd practiced it before a hundred times till he could do it in his sleep. They were instinctual; engraved in his person and as much a part of him as his inner fire.
Graceful and lithe, his body slid from step to step fluidly with practiced ease. The series of smooth movements continued with a succession of deliberate punches and snapping kicks, as if a dance to a rhythm that only he could comprehend. Every set of forms followed an invisible straight path; from point A to point B, and then back again, like a neverending cycle.
The flame inside him was stoked with every controlled breath, writhing like a caged beast as it fought to break free. It wanted to join the dance, to taste the heated sea breeze; it wanted to consume.
Sweat trickled from his temple and down to his chin, dripping on the metal deck of his ship almost painfully slowly. He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the pain that laced his soul and lingering within the empty whole his father burned.
He had told Iroh how his burned eye had hurt whenever he tried to firebend, and the old general had been stricken and horrified upon hearing it.
A firebender's fire comes from his chi, his vital energy. It was his will, his intent and spirituality; his internal health. If his very own fire was hurting him, it means he had been damaged not just physically, but also spiritually.
He'd burst on a bitter, hollowed laughter at that. He wondered what his uncle had thought, realizing that his own father had intended to have him killed, not survive through the pain. The kind old general had tried to dance around the severity of his situation, but he knew better.
Unless he endured the pain, or maybe find a spiritual healer, firebending would be worthless, perhaps he'd even lose his inner world.
Now, that was just unacceptable.
He'd shed blood, sweat, and tears to open and master his Reality Marble; loosing it would mean that everything he went through in his past meant nothing.
He couldn't accept that. He wouldn't.
Pain, he knew. He was familiar with it. He could even find solace in it; helping him appreciate the fact that he was still alive, and it made him stronger. He'd grown accustomed, almost reassured, really, to its constancy in his life. Sometimes, it was the only thing that helped him get through every coming dawn and continue pursuing his foolish dream.
He had an entire lifetime to endure it. This time wasn't any different.
As he finished his set with closed eyes and a deep calming breath, he felt a scowl settling on his face.
The pinpricts at the back of his head was irritating, like an annoying itch that egged and taunted to burn everything around him.
They thought they were discrete enough; they thought he couldn't hear them.
His nose flared, a bitter snarl bitten on his tongue.
"The spoiled prince, thrown away by his own father."
"Rumor has it that he's been disowned because he's a pathetic bender."
"A crown prince who lost his honor in a fire duel, he's a disgrace to the royal family."
Each gossip hurt more painful than the last, and his incompetent, uncultivated crew clung onto them like a bunch of squealing banshees. He knew better than to be affected, but he couldn't help it.
They didn't know what he'd been through; how much he'd lost.
Unless the Avatar was found, he could never return home.
Home. It didn't have to mean anything; it used to mean nothing.
As Emiya Shirou, he had already abandoned every right he had to be happy, to care, and to be cared for. In the midst of that accursed fire so long ago, he had traded those privileges for the price of survival. He was destined to live and die alone atop a hill of swords the moment Emiya Kiritsugu embued the Everdistant Utopia in his soul.
He had struggled to repay that price; to pay for every wail, every cry for salvation that he'd ignored. Almost selfishly, he had relentlessly dedicated everything he was to be selfless. He had travelled from battlefield to battlefield, tiding over raining gunfire, and hunting the occasional monsters of the Moonlit World.
He had no home. He could say he had lost it, but then, it was entirely his fault.
He remembered a roaring tiger who would hungrily devour everything he set on the table. A gentle kohai who helped him in the kitchens. A fiery, twin-tailed tsundere who held on for as long as she could. A beautiful white snow princess who made his life meaningful, even for just a year. And an ethereal king, a knight, who learned to accept her flaws and be stronger for it.
Whenever he thought of home, they were what came first to his mind.
They used to be his home.
However, in his relentless pursuit of his dream, he had forgotten. What was it that made him take the path he chose?
He wanted to save everyone, to make a world where no one has to be sad, but in doing so, he had abandoned the people who mattered to him.
It was so pitifully hypocritical.
If he could meet his younger past self even for a moment, he'd end that idiotic existence just for hurting the people who cared for him with his foolish naivete.
Maybe, if he knew then what he knew now, he'd learn to cherish the people who were willing to put up with him. Maybe he wouldn't have been alone. And when everything he stood for began to crumble and crash down beneath his feet, he would have someone to lean on to. Maybe he wouldn't die drowning in bitterness and full of regrets.
Now, in this world, he had a family; a real family.
It was dysfunctional and broken; but it was his.
He could still vividly remember a time before that, before the lust for power, the desire to conquer, and the poisonous envy.
They lived in a beautiful manor near the beach of Ember Island, the sound of the waves crashing on the shore an enchanting rhythm and the sunset and sunrise celebrating kaleidoscopic colors as the sea and sky met on the horizon. His father wasn't always a monster; he used to be a reserved husband, a supportive father, a good brother, and an obedient son. Once upon a time, Azula wasn't the ruthless little sadist trying to suffocate him in his sleep; she used to be his adorable, sweet little sister who clung unto him like inseparable glue. His kind, lovely mother would always take all of them to the theatre and watch the humorous and wonderful plays, eating fireflakes and making fun of the actors.
Those memories always gave him hope, that perhaps piecing his family back together was worth facing the impossible.
Opening his eye once more, he dismissed the anger from his system. He whirled around to face his uncle, the stiff ponytail on the crown of his head swishing with his motion, and gave the man a traditional Fire Nation bow to end the routine.
The retired Dragon of the West sat under an umbrella a few feet away from him with his ever present tea set, sipping a cup of Ginseng as he watched him practice the basic firebending forms. The old man nodded gravely, his eyebrows kneaded in contemplation while a crease of concern formed on the corner of his mouth.
"A fine performance, Prince Zuko," he complimented, setting down his cup. "Your breathing control has improved, but you should remember to keep your balance. An enduring tree has firm roots, lest, a mere gust of wind will topple it."
"I understand, Uncle," he replied, taking the red cloth prepared for him to dry his sweaty skin.
The former general gave him a queer look, almost as if expecting a different reaction.
He just shrugged.
The sun was nearing to set, and he'd been practicing the same basic forms over and over again every day for the past week since he'd been strong enough to move. Perhaps the old man was expecting him to complain. He felt like he should, but he wasn't going to bother. If merely stroking his inner fire felt like he's gauging his eye out, he wondered how worse it would be if he'd actually summoned it out. Truthfully, he wasn't ready to find out just yet.
When he sat on the seat beside his uncle, the old man poured him his own cup of tea. Thanking him for it, he gratefully enjoyed the calming hot beverage.
Iroh beamed at him.
"It gives this old man great joy to see a family member appreciate a well-brewed cup of Ginseng," he softly intoned. "Oh, how it hurt me so when my own nephew used to call it 'hot leaf juice'," he added with a hearty chuckle.
He sipped his tea, soaking in its aroma.
"Perhaps I've learned to appreciate having someone to share it with," he replied, his memory drifting back to the times he'd spend with his old man. They could watch the starry night sky together while drinking tea for all eternity, and he doubt it would be enough.
"Indeed, life is oftentimes hard, only with companionship can we learn to find happiness in the few good things that comes our way," his uncle told him with a twinkle in his amber eyes, "much better, of course, if shared over a warm cup of tea."
He smiled wistfully, and his understanding uncle let him stew on his thoughts. A peaceful silence settled between them as they watched the sun slowly drift down the horizon, bathing the western sky with myriad of bright, beautiful colors. Only when Lieutenant Ji walked towards them did they snapped away from the breathtaking view.
"My Prince," the Lieutenant called, his tone bordering disrespectful, "General. You have yet to chart a course since we've left Fire Nation waters. On behalf of the crew, I implore you specify a destination shortly. Drifting in the ocean with no direction to go makes the crew antsy."
Lieutenant Ji was one of the handful firebenders aboard his small ship. He was a misfit, just as the rest of the crew was. He was demoted and reassigned under his command by the Firelord himself, for insubordination according to the rumor mill; talking back to his commanding officer, and then losing in an Agni Kai after demanding one. It was pitiful really, how they were almost a mirror of each other. It's as if Firelord Ozai intended him to remember how pathetic he was wherever he looked.
His father could be funny when he wanted to, apparently. Too bad he always ended up being the punchline.
As the Lieutenant's new superior, there was no love lost between the two of them. It seemed Lieutenant Ji just hated being under any command. It made him wonder why the man was a marine in the first place, then he realized, he probably didn't have a choice. Reading his information sheet, he'd decided to give him control of the wheel. That way, he could avoid him as often as he could. Not that he's afraid of confrontation, mind you, he just couldn't be bothered by the man's issues.
Fortunately, it seemed he at least held respect for his uncle. That's good enough, he supposed.
"Prince Zuko, have you decided on a destination yet?" his uncle asked submissively, turning to face him with deference.
He inwardly sighed. Iroh, it seemed, had caught on the tension between them and was showing the Lieutenant that he was still the owner and captain of this ship. Or maybe he just couldn't decide.
He mulled for a moment.
Finding the Avatar was improbable, but not truly impossible. No one had seen him for almost a hundred years, but he guessed no one as desperate as him had looked hard enough.
"The Air Temples," he answered. "Let's start with the Western, since it is the closest."
a/n: Well, a bit short, eh? It's to be expected, I guess, since I wrote this on my phone. Lol. I hope you at least enjoyed it. Expect most of my chapters like this, 'cause yeah, my muse is on-the-go.
No sword spamming yet. He could probably do it, access his magecraft, that is, if he sets his mind to it. After all, Shirou Emiya's pain tolerance is god-like. Lol.
Thanks for reading.