"Azula!"

Zuko throws open the door to their room. Even in Iroh's much larger apartment, there still aren't enough bedrooms for every person to have their own. Admittedly, though, this is a great step up from their previous room. It was some kind of sitting room before they'd moved in, dual decorative swords hanging over an ornamental fireplace and furniture pushed to its edges. An impressive vanity, imported from the Fire Nation, with gilded dragons carved into its wood sits in the far corner, each side scattered with their scant belongings. The beds they'd had brought in are large and lush, the space between them plentiful. Long silken curtains hang over the wall sized windows, and they billow slightly as she stands over her bed, studying the clothes laid out over it with care.

"No." She responds, holding up some kind of elaborate shirt to herself. The edges are lined with gold and embroidered stylishly.

"I didn't even—" Zuko starts, frowning as he stumbles into the room, still wearing his clothes from the ball, the sodden dirt of the palace gardens dribbling from his boots.

"With that tone, it sounds like you want something from me. And I'm busy. So no." She tosses the expensive shirt onto the floor, holding up another top. More gold, more fine embellishments. This one has a slight train that shimmers and drags on the floor.

"Where did you…did mom buy those for you?"

"If we're going to be living like rich people, we should look the part. And I am a Princess, technically, so I can't go around wearing rags." She looks pointedly down at his well worn tunic and the stained apron over it, "Well. One of us should look the part." Another shirt on the floor. She picks up a dress instead. The fabric is heavy and dense, the skirt alone layered multiple times with patterns and textures he's never even seen before. She turns to look at herself in the long mirror over the vanity.

"We've got bigger problems to deal with than that." He comes up to her, taking the dress from her hands. She lets him, chuckling.

"And what are those? Did Iroh's tea turn sour?" She teases, pinching his bruising cheek as she walks back to her bed and sits on the only spot not littered in fine garments, "Or did you get in a fight already? Wasn't that supposed to be my thing?"

"The Dai Li captured Ozai."

"Oh." She frowns, leaning back on her hands before she blows the bangs out of her face in thought, "That is a problem."

"Yes, I know it is!" Zuko shouts, throwing her dress down in exasperation.

"Alright, no reason to scream." She crosses a leg over the other, bouncing her foot. She continues thinking. Zuko loses his patience, pacing the distance between their beds.

"What am I supposed to do? The Dai Li could do anything to him. No one knows what they do to people when they take them. What if they killed him already? He's not a good person, he's definitely not a good father, but whatever they're doing to him it's probably—" She stands abruptly, interrupting him as she puts a finger up to his face.

"We break him out, obviously." Zuko is stunned into silence, pushing her hand away.

"What?"

"We break him out." She shrugs, picking her clothes up off the floor.

"Just…break him out. From the Dai Li. You think it'll be that easy?"

"I didn't say it would be easy. But that ball or party or whatever, it's going on for the next week. Right?" Zuko nods, trying to figure out where she's going with this train of thought, "And you and Iroh have unlimited access to most of the palace and all the gardens."

"…yes, we do. The Earth King insisted we could get anywhere we needed to go. He likes Iroh." Zuko says slowly, settling on the edge of his own bed.

"Did you see where they took him?" She asks, looking down at him.

"Not exactly. They went somewhere behind the palace, somewhere in the gardens. But they dragged him there."

"So, they could have left a trail." Azula thinks aloud.

"They don't think anyone's coming for him. They think he's alone. They probably expect the traffic from the party to wipe out the trail." He says slowly, realizing the points she's trying to bring him to.

"But we'll get there first." She's visibly excited, already grabbing a bag and packing it with coins, looking over her shoulder at him, "In the meantime, we're going to need to do some more shopping."


Cold.

All Ozai can feel is cold. Every inch of his skin shivers, his stolen robes torn away to leave his body open to the chill. He's left in only loose, ripped pants and thin leather boots, practically nothing to help maintain his body heat. He finds its difficult to even lift his head, his muscles so weak that the effort is herculean. His head thumps back against the freezing wall. He tries to take stock of the situation, slowly opening his eyes to view the room he's found himself in.

Nothing.

It's pure darkness. Or at least, he hopes so. The alternative is that he's gone entirely blind, because the absolute blackness he sees is more intense than anything he's ever witnessed. He can feel the rough brick of the walls against his back, the stone under his boots, but he can't see them. His breath tries to speed in panic, and that brings something else to his attention.

He can barely breathe. Frigid steel is wrapped around his face, starting halfway down the bridge of his nose and pressing along his cheeks, sealed with something pliable and tacky. It then wraps around the back of his head to come together around a heavy lock, the edges of it scrapping the wall behind him gratingly. It continues down to the bottom of his jaw, cupping beneath his ears and staying firmly in place with the movements of his head. More importantly, it allows him hardly any air. No matter how deeply he breathes, just wisps of air filter through the mask, giving him enough air to keep him awake and alive, but not enough to give him any strength or fuel his firebending.

He reaches up with shaking, weak hands. He feels blindly, touching along the mask and tugging, but it doesn't move. He finds frozen condensation caking its surface from the moisture of his shallow breath beneath. He pulls harder, and the skin touching it protests as he tugs on it. The condensation is practically fusing the metal to his face. He doesn't have the strength to continue anyway, slumping back against the wall. He feels so, so weak. So tired. Each robbed breath makes his head fog and his thoughts struggle to remain coherent.

Then a light flickers, a sliver of it beneath what must be the door to his cell, and he blinks to make sure it's real. It's at least a relief to know he isn't blind. The door opens entirely with protesting groans, and a figure emerges. Fog rolls out from the contrasting air temperatures and makes the approaching figure appear ethereal. Spirit like.

Ozai can't help his head lulling forward again, chest heaving as he continues to try and pull in any deeper breaths that might give him strength. It's an almost drugged feeling, this lightheadedness. He teeters between being asleep and awake, the world spinning and the cold fading before being yanked back into consciousness. Limbs heavy and numb, heart beating loud in his ears. The sound of his breaths amplified by the mask denying him air. His hair falls into his face, and when the figure yanks his head back, he's limp in his hold.

"Prince Ozai. Welcome." The figure says. It's the first time Ozai can view more of his face, the lantern at his side lighting it dimly. Perhaps it's his oxygen starved brain, but he doesn't see a face. It's a mask, white and shiny like porcelain. Deeply set, calculating eyes stare at him through the holes in it, and individual slits over the mouth and nose let him breathe. It shines dully, reflecting the light. Ozai reaches up a frigid hand, seeing the slight blue tint in the tips of his stiff fingers, and brushes the mask curiously. It doesn't feel like skin. It feels warm and hard. It is porcelain. His brows furrow in curiosity.

The figure chuckles, taking his hand. The warmth in it makes Ozai close his eyes. He craves it, desperately, trying to curl his fingers around it. He can hardly bend them, the joints protesting.

"You firebenders are an interesting type." He continues, holding up Ozai's quivering hand between them, "Glass canons. You have so much power, but I've found you are very weak, in reality, if you just take away their breath. Once there's no fuel for their fire..." He drops Ozai's hand, reaching forward and running his fingers along the curve of Ozai's own mask reverently.

"They're crippled. You need to breathe air to bend. To rely so heavily on another element—one your kind obliterated the masters of, might I remind you—for your own? That's nearly parasitic. That's what you are." He yanks hard on Ozai's mask, and he cries out on reflex into it. He feels hot blood pouring over it, but the pain doesn't come. His skin is too cold, his nerves shot. It only makes his breath harder to catch. The heat of his blood dribbling onto the skin of his neck is a disturbingly pleasant sensation.

"Parasite." He's still pulling on the mask, forcing Ozai to look at him, "Look at me."

He does, his vision blurry, but he takes in the entirety of him beyond his porcelain mask. There's no Dai Li uniform. He's simply wearing the clothes of an Earth Kingdom dignitary. They look warm. He distantly notes that several more of the mask encompassing his jaw cling to his belt along with some kind of small, intricate steel boxes. There's nothing special about him, otherwise.

"Do you know me?" He asks, and Ozai squints. The man reaches up, and the porcelain mask is slowly pulled from his face. He turns up the flame on the lantern, and the light reaches his features. Ozai makes a strained noise behind his mask, blinking a few times to be sure he's not hallucinating.

His skin is mangled. It's twisted and contorted like he's viewing it through curving ice. He has no eyebrows, no hair. His lips are burned to the point of revealing teeth in spots. It's all a matte, irritated pink that fades into deep reds in spots where the burns run deeper. His eyes have a semi-haze, not as complete as the blind girl's he'd seen before, but certainly not completely able to see. His nose is smoothed down to a blunt husk. It's a grim vision of horror and viscera, and Ozai's certain he'd recognize that face if he'd seen it before.

"Do you know me?" He asks again. Ozai stares, still unable to connect thoughts, even to shake his head.

"I'll tell you then, Fire Prince." He settles on his knees across from him, "You did this to me. I led the rebellion in the Earth King's stead. When I approached you that night, you burnt the skin from my face. Not enough to kill me, no, you wouldn't give me that mercy, but you disfigured me. Ruined me. I spent the next fifteen years recovering and learning."

Distantly, Ozai remembers. He snorts what might be a laugh at him. Those weak men who'd led the rebellion. Weak men who had tried to destroy him, but even with the advantage of numbers and surprise, he'd alluded them. Seeing the aftermath of what he did to this rebel brought a smile to his face, even under the pressure of the mask. It's a cruel thing, and the smirk reaches Ozai's eyes.

The man reaches forward and turns something on the side of Ozai's steel mask, and the air is suddenly cut off entirely. He gasps and thrashes with all his limited strength. The man snorts before turning the nob again, and those thin wisps of air feel like a luxury.

"So you do remember." He says, continuing, "As I was saying. I studied and learned. And, more importantly, I found you." He sits back comfortably, watching Ozai's labored breaths. The distant hatred in his eyes that can't quite come together.

"Those little messages telling you to who to kill? Those were from me. They were in my way. They questioned the removal of firebenders from Ba Sing Se. They fought against the outlawing of firebending. They were getting too close to my work. Not that you did any research to know that before you burned them to death." He waits for the realization to land before continuing, reveling in it, "So thank you, for that, Fire Prince. Because of you, I didn't have to get my hands dirty. Unlike when I killed your father." The lantern sits between them, lighting the man's twisted smile that makes his scars stretch strangely. Ozai makes an aggravated noise, unable to respond further. His father's death was nothing to him.

"I decided to let the Dai Li finally capture you." He continues after it becomes clear that Ozai can't do much else to answer, "I was hoping you'd actually kill the Avatar first, though. I thought you were a better murderer than that." He sighs with fake melancholy. Ozai nearly rolls his eyes.

"But now I have you here, face to face, and I can use you for other purposes. Especially now that most of my dissenters are dead at your hand." He leans in, tilting Ozai's head back again to study the underside of the mask, "I always wanted to learn how to tame a firebender after what you did to me. This little toy here…"

He keeps touching Ozai's mask, fondling it with care that makes Ozai's freezing skin crawl, "Cost many firebender lives. But we've figured it out. How does it feel?"

Silence as the men lock eyes. Ozai manages to drag his thoughts together long enough to glare.

"I was excited to test it out on you once I got you here." He stands, looming over Ozai and sliding his porcelain mask back on, "And I'm afraid this means I'm going to have to formally fire you from your previous position as my favorite mercenary." He lifts the lantern, taking its light and warmth with him. Ozai's eyes follow it, craving it. His core cries out for it, and the flame flickers towards him when he tries to breathe in.

"Bring it in." He calls out the door, and a cart is wheeled in by a Dai Li agent. He stands obediently at the door of the room. The man studies the contents of the cart, setting the lantern on it and allowing its glow to light his face ghoulishly.

"You have so much you can teach me." He picks up something. It's a complicated metal device, the light glinting off its sharp edges menacingly. Ozai's legs scrape along the smooth stone as he tries to shift away.

"Now. Hold still."


It's the second day of the ball when they decide to strike. Pretending to attend the festivities and serve tea to those in attendance with his Uncle, all while knowing Ozai was somewhere within these impossibly fortified walls, was a feat he wasn't sure he could handle. But they needed time to prepare, and to buy the necessary equipment for their attempted prison break. Azula was a more skilled barter than he'd ever known, and after a day of shopping throughout the Upper Ring, he felt they were somewhat prepared. At least, as prepared as one could be, possibly facing off against the greatest earthbenders the Earth Kingdom had to offer to break out ones estranged father.

He leaves with Iroh that night, as planned, and returns shortly after with his sister instead.

It's well into the night, the sun due to rise in a scant few hours, when Zuko leads Azula up to the guards posted at the garden entrance. Zuko nervously clutches the bag over his shoulder. He's still dressed in his clothes he'd previously worn to the ball, but their newly acquired gear is both tucked into the fabric beneath his apron and balled up in the bottom of his bag. Azula wears her most informal clothes, carrying a bag of her own. Iroh's too big apron hangs loosely around her waist. The palace guards scrutinize them, but they're exhausted from the endless come and go of the party. Some guests still wander the gardens in various levels of intoxication. They look at the passes into the party that had thankfully been left in Iroh's apron pocket, yawning as they motion them along. They hardly get the chance to give their excuse for returning.

"This is going to be easier than I thought." Azula murmurs, following Zuko into one of the maintenance sheds lining the gardens. He ducks behind a row of cracked flowerpots and tools, hurriedly starting to change. He emerges in the black jumpsuit he'd purchased, fidgeting nervously and tugging at the collar. It's meant to be worn as a sort of underclothing, something to help more complicated robes layer easily, but it serves their purpose of being harder to spot in the dark. She goes behind the same shelf, changing as well.

Zuko digs into his bag, the last piece of his outfit. He secures the black fabric over his face until it covers everything but his eyes. Ozai had never covered his face, only worn a cloak that hung low over his eyes. He can't take that risk, not knowing what's at stake. This was no petty theft; no bumbling Lower Ring enforcers. This was treason, high crimes against the King and his security force. And they were doing it for a man who would likely run from them again. A man who seemed to, at best, tolerate them.

Why?

There's no real answer besides the fact that he feels he should. No matter how many times Ozai ran from them, or how much he infuriated him, it wasn't right to let the Dai Li do whatever they pleased with him. Whether he liked it or not, this man was still their father. He'd taught him how to control his firebending. He'd supported their family, if a little late. He'd gotten them out of the Lower Ring. If anything, he was owed at least one favor. If Ozai were here, he'd probably call him a fool. He would say he was risking his neck over some sentiment and the notion of what's right. And maybe he's right to say those things, but that didn't make him want to do it less.

"Are those swords?" Azula asks with a tinge of amusement as she emerges in her own outfit. It's a similar black jumpsuit, though she seems to have taken inspiration from Ozai, adding a matching cloak with its low riding hood. It further obscures her figure, making her more of a vague shape in the shadows. She pulls a dark swath of fabric up over her nose to match his. Zuko stands, the sheath to said swords weighing on his back. It had laid flat under his loose clothes on the way in—the slightly too short, yet thankfully sharpened, decorative swords from Iroh's fireplace hidden under his apron—but now sat full and heavy. It's an unfamiliar weight.

"Do you even know how to use those?" She continues as Zuko shoves their bags under an empty flowerpot. They can come back for it another night this week, assuming this doesn't all go horribly wrong.

"Not really, no. But we need to go in with more than just firebending. We have no idea what we're going up against." He opens the door of the shed a sliver, peaking out into the gardens. It's empty, this section hardly having anything to draw guests. Remnants of the shattered glass from the altercation the day before are still scattered on the ground nearby. He steps out cautiously, following along the path lightly.

"I think I'll do fine with just firebending." She answers, following him to the spot. It's mostly undisturbed, the area a wealth of flowers and decorative bushes, but the path they're most interested in is the disturbance in the grass where Ozai had clearly been dragged forward. There's blood on the dirt from the Dai Li agent's shattered nose. Trampled flowers. Dozens of footsteps muddying the trail for a long while before the indent picks up again.

It's subtle, half hidden with quick earthbending, but the crushed grass and flowers can't be swayed. They leave hints. A scrap of fabric, a smear of blood. A clump of familiar black hair snagged on a stone. The trail ends at what would appear to be just another palace wall.

But the stone here is different in small ways. Cracks at the base with dirt smeared along its bottom in an odd pattern. A tiny chip or two along certain edges. He thinks of the tunnels Ozai had shown him, drawing a sword from its sheath on his back and digging the edge of it into one of the small chips in the stone.

The crack widens, the stone crumbling from the repeated abuse of rock on rock friction. He digs the sword in further, and the crack spreads, growing long and wide in a particular pattern until it forms the shape of the hidden doorway.

"Out of the way." Azula whispers, nudging him aside. She settles into a stance he's vaguely familiar with, one Ozai had showed them, and flame erupts from her outstretched fist at the small hole Zuko had formed. It singes and crackles, the gap only widening as she relentlessly cooks it. She increases the scope of her flame, but the intensity remains the same. She scoots back a little to get a wider range. Eventually a charred shape is formed, a hole just large enough for them to squeeze through, and Zuko slams the butt of his sword into the charred rock. It crumbles to ash, blackened pebbles littering the ground.

"Boys first." Azula says as she bends to look through the hole. Complete blackness.

Zuko reaches behind himself to awkwardly sheath his sword, taking a breath to steel himself before sliding through the still warm edges of the hole. In the darkness, he can't see how far the floor is. He lingers for a moment, risking a small, delicate flame over his hand and lowers it as far as he can reach. He's thankful to see slick stone below, dropping down onto it. Azula follows, equally silent as she lights a larger fire over her hand.

"What is this?" Azula whispers, waving her hand around the room and trailing the fire with it. It's not what he was expecting.

It's not a prison or dungeon swarming with Dai Li, as he'd feared. It's actually a rather small room. It's densely cluttered with tables and various machines, items and trinkets of unknown use and origin filling the room. Zuko stops at one of the tall bookshelves that stretches to the ceiling, each row filled to the brim with scrolls upon scrolls. A surprising number of them bare the Fire Nation insignia. He wishes he'd brought his bag, but for the time being he grabs them at random, shoving them into the sash around his waist.

"Once a thief, always a thief, hmm, Zuzu?" She chuckles as she passes him, leaning down to inspect a mass of metal on one of the tables. It looks like some kind of muzzle, the thick bands of steel arching gracefully at roughly the shape of a human head. The inside of it is a complicated maze of tubes and funnels. She nudges it curiously, and it topples over and flattens onto its side, the bands curling into its center.

"I liked being named Lee better." He grumbles, looking up at the ceiling to take in more of the intricate work there, "You couldn't come up with awful nicknames for that." Chains hang from the low roof in a spider-rat's web, each ending in some kind of cuff meant to attach to a limb. He goes to touch one before he finds it's stained with dried blood. When he looks down, the floor is covered in that same deep brown. A tray of surgical looking tools sits off to the side, gleaming in the light of his fire. Fear washes over him, and he remembers why they'd come this far.

"Come on. Ozai's not in here." He builds the fire over his palm to reach further into the gloom, letting out a relieved sigh when he sees a steel door. He approaches it, dismayed when he sees no handle or lever, feeling along its smooth surface. It's only interrupted with a strangely shaped hole on its inner edge. There's no obvious way forward, and Zuko is about to turn to Azula and ask her for any ideas she might have, but the groan of steel cuts him off. They both back away from the door, scattering underneath tables and extinguishing their respective fires.

A lone Dai Li agent emerges, attaching something to his belt as he does so. It's a small block of steel, unconventional as keys go, and adorned with some kind of twisting edge. But it's obvious that this is some kind of key to maneuver the door. If he could just slide it out of the man's belt, he could use it to—

Azula pounces on him, tackling him to the ground with a flaming fist to his back. He slams into the stone, and she gives his head a solid punch for good measure. He doesn't move, the blow to his head seeming to have rendered him unconscious for the time being. Zuko stares up at her. She lights the flame over her hand again, grinning as she yanks the key from his belt.

"Street fights teach you a few things, here and there." She hops off the body beneath her, coming back over to the now closed steel door. She presses the block of steel into the small, inconspicuous hole along its very edge, and the door shudders to life, sliding up and out of their way. When it closes behind them, it does so with a final bang.

There are lanterns sporadically placed throughout the tunnel, their glow dim and failing to reach the opposite wall. In the case of another Dai Li agent approaching, they can't risk lighting their own fires. They stay close to the shadowed wall of the tunnel, sticking to the darkness. As they walk by each lantern, they draw the fire from it and extinguish it.

Finally, there's a door. Zuko risks lighting a flame over his hand to study it.

It's identical to the one at the entrance to the tunnel, and Azula comes forward to unlock it. When he touches the metal, it's ice cold. Wisps of air visibly waft from the seams of it. Whatever is inside, it's extremely cold.

She presses the key into the slot and is met with a wall of fog as the two temperatures of air mingle and spill out onto the ground around them. Zuko extends his arm further, building his flame brighter to see inside the room. It's barren, the walls a graying brick and the floor the same cool stone as the hall. Azula nudges past him, daring to enter first where Zuko hesitates. Her flame builds bright enough to make him squint, their breaths coming out in plumes of steam.

There's a body on the floor. A familiar body, his head and shoulders covered in a halo of tangled dark hair matted with blood and mud. A half frozen pool of blood sits beneath him, smeared in different directions by panicked handprints.

"Ozai." Zuko runs to him, caution abandoned as he gets to his knees and rolls him onto his back. Azula stands over his shoulder, lighting Ozai's face beneath them.

The mass of metal Azula had been inspecting earlier is attached to the lower part of his face, coated in streaks of frozen blood that continue down his neck and chest. Zuko tries to move it, but it stays firmly where it is, tugging on his already abused skin. The right side of his face is streaked with bruises and dirt, the colors only more firmly standing out on his unnaturally white skin. It's a deathly paleness, even the warm glow of the fire gives him no color. Zuko fears the worst before he manages to find just the slightest twitches of strained breaths, feeling along Ozai's purpled and battered neck. Despite the chill of Ozai's skin, he feels no indication of shivers. He's in a stage of hypothermia. Alive, but quickly dying from the cold and whatever the mask was doing to him.

Looking further down, Zuko takes in the entirety of his body. He's covered in lacerations of varying sizes, the cuts and gashes too precise to be accidental. When he looks closer, he sees some kind of metal clamp or device over each wound. The blood has already started to clot around them, a mixture of hard scabs and ice fighting to claim the spot. The purpose of the wounds is unclear, but he doesn't wait to ponder them. He hooks his arms under Ozai, lifting his heavy, lifeless form off the ground.

"He's looked better." Azula murmurs as she comes forward, her flame extinguishing and leaving them in darkness as they both slowly drag his body out of the icy room and into the more moderately chilled air. Even outside of the room, it's by no means warm. They're firmly into the winter, and the halls of the tunnel don't offer enough warmth to give them hope for Ozai's immediate recovery.

So they do the only thing they can. They start dragging him, trying to disperse his considerable weight between the two of them. They get halfway down the long hallway before they have to take a break, the two of them panting and looking back at Ozai's prone form. The skin of his back is rubbed raw.

"Why does he have to be so heavy?" Azula sighs, yanking the fabric covering her face out of the way to get a proper breath.

"You know, Iroh was saying-" Zuko does the same, breathing deeply, "Muscles aren't really required for bending."

"Then he's just showing off." She grumbles. She goes to wipe her forehead of sweat, pushing the hood of her cloak aside. She pauses as she does so, standing up straighter. "We can use this." She says, sliding her cloak off. She lays it out on the floor. With a combined effort, they manage to lift the majority of Ozai off the ground and onto the cloak. When they pull on the fabric together, he glides far more smoothly along the floor, the drag on his skin taken out of the equation. They reach the end of the hallway, and Zuko starts to gain real hope that they might pull this off without a hitch after all.

The entrance slides open, and a new figure enters.

There's nothing to light him, all the lanterns extinguished and both of the siblings too occupied with pulling along Ozai to create a fire. They still completely. There's only the sound of their heavy breathing, and the soft hiss of Ozai's strained breaths through the mask. The man wanders blindly, his footsteps echoing off the tight walls of the tunnel. He hadn't expected the lanterns to be extinguished, and thankfully hadn't brought his own.

"Whoever you are, I see you've eliminated one of the Dai Li agents. Well done." He says to the walls around him, inching closer to the sounds of the breathing, "But if you've come for the Prince, I'm afraid I can't let you do that."

Azula's cloak is suddenly yanked out from between their hands, the fabric tearing and Ozai's body sliding along with it. Zuko stumbles after it, but it's a fruitless endeavor in the absolute darkness.

"You're firebenders, aren't you?" He says, his voice coming from everywhere as it echoes off the walls, "Go ahead. Light your way. Find him."

They won't take his bait. They both refuse to give him the opportunity to spring on them in the darkness.

"Loyalists, I presume." He continues on, and he makes the mistake of taking a loud step. Zuko and Azula both hear the movement clearly, following with silent footsteps of their own, "Come to free your dear Prince. He took as much from your people as he did from mine, you know." Another step. The clank of something grinding on stone. He can't see Azula in the absolute blackness, but he feels he's looking into her eyes as they continue their approach toward the sound. An unspoken agreement.

In unison, they blast fire towards the source of the sound. It illuminates a pale white mask, the porcelain gleaming in the light of the fire. It's not attached to a face, simply hanging on the hook for a lantern. As it dangles, it grinds against the stone behind it.

They hardly have time to process what they're seeing before the man is behind them. He grabs Zuko first and slams him into the wall, his head connecting with the stone roughly. It makes his world spin, and he falls to his knees as he tries to regain his balance. In the same instance, there's cool metal pressing to his face. It locks around the back of his head with a resounding click, and suddenly he can't seem to find a full breath. He gasps and yanks at the mask, but it doesn't budge, only tugging at the hair caught in its lock mechanism. Every breath comes shallower, more of a fight. His panicked breathing accelerates the suffocation.

There's the sound of a continuing struggle as Azula duels with the man, not holding back her fire now. It lights the tunnel sporadically, enough for Zuko to make out Ozai just out of reach. Zuko stands shakily, able to stay upright and walking just long enough to get to Ozai before he's forced to fall to his hands and knees, chest heaving, ears ringing. He's reduced to crawling, gathering the fabric of Azula's cloak between his hands.

His strength is waning, the power needed to pull him being robbed by the mask. He looks up to the flashes of light that indicate where his sister is, crying out against the metal when he sees her stream of fire interrupted by the man surging forward. The flames sear his arm, light his sleeve ablaze, but he ignores it as he slams yet another muzzle against her face. The flames licking at the fabric of his clothes dimly light her panicked expression as she claws at it, nails scraping on smooth, unyielding metal.

She presses back against the wall, her quick breaths coming in shallow pants as the muzzle steals her air as well. Yet she doesn't completely yield, glaring up at him and raising a fist to continue her assault.

A weak flame sputters forward and fizzles out. Her breath wheezes. She hunches forward. She tries again. No fire emerges. He smirks at her and grabs her by her hair. He throws her to the ground and lands a solid kick to her stomach, the sound loud and painful in the tight space. She groans into her mask, curling in on herself.

"So. Loyalists…" He pats out the fires on his robes, picking up her shaking body and dragging it towards them. He drops her unceremoniously, grabbing a lantern from the wall and relighting it with the last remaining embers on his sleeve. Ozai is still completely incapacitated. Azula is twitching and gasping beside him, refusing to give up on tearing off the mask locked around her head. Her own nails claw her skin in her desperation. Zuko leans back against the wall, staring up at him.

It's the first time he fully sees his mangled face, pulling back in horror.

"No." He shakes his head, leaning down and getting in close as he studies Zuko's face, "You're not loyalists at all, are you?" Zuko turns his head away, not wanting to look at him. Even as his head starts to swim, the disgust he feels is visceral.

"I recognize you. Especially you. You're his children." He laughs, and the way it makes his burned skin pull is only more horrific, "Look at you. All grown up. Just as weak, though, it seems. Absolutely useless with these on." He tugs on the muzzle teasingly, yanking Zuko's gaze back to him. It was clear he couldn't firebend while being deprived of air. He doubted he could throw a punch in this state, and even the weight of the swords on his back seems to pull him down as his strength leaves him.

The swords.

He sits up abruptly and locks eyes with the man. He's untroubled, tilting his head in a questioning manner. Zuko crumples against him as if he's finally giving out. The man chuckles, an arm wrapping around him as he starts dragging him back toward the icy cell he'd taken Ozai from.

In one surprisingly quick motion, he draws the sword from his back, slicing it across the arm holding him. The man screams, pulling back and dropping him, and Zuko takes the moment of surprise to lash out with the sword again. His swing is unpracticed and sloppy, but it lands, stabbing into the mans shoulder hard enough to drive it completely through.

He releases his grip on the sword, letting it stay embedded in him, and falls to his knees as the man staggers away. When Zuko looks back to see where Azula and Ozai are, he initially panics to find them gone. But when he rolls the forgotten lantern further away, he catches sight of the two of them. She's sitting back against the steel door, lifting the key sluggishly. The muzzle saps her strength as much as it does his. Dragging Ozai those last few feet has drained her thoroughly, her eyes half lidded.

He painstakingly makes his way back toward her, trying to get to and stay on his feet multiple times. When he finally crosses the short distance, she slams the key into its hole. The door slides open behind them, its shuddering groans welcome. Ozai's body topples through it, and they manage to shove him inside with their combined, yet limited, strength before the door starts to roll closed again.

The man yanks Zuko back before he can crawl after them, and the door slams shut. He's panting with fury, his mangled flesh lit in dramatic shadow by the lone lantern. Blood oozes from his injured shoulder and arm. It soaks into Zuko's jumpsuit.

"You think you can get away?" He hisses, his face close enough for each detail of his ruined face to be in intense focus, "All you've done is given me more to work with. Three firebenders instead of one!"

There's hardly anything left in him. Moving any muscle feels like an impossible task. He's limp in the man's hold as he starts dragging him again. But when Zuko's arms fall to his sides, they brush the man's belt. Another metal mask, along with two polished blocks of steel, dangle from it. Zuko's hands are clumsy, shaking and struggling to get a proper grip as he yanks on the belt, snapping the singed garment. The pieces of steel fall into his lap, silenced by the fabric. The mask comes lose and slides into his hands. He weakly clutches them, unfamiliar with the shape of the second metal piece in his palm. In the complete darkness, the light of the lantern at the other end of the hall, the man stops and glares down at him, kicking his side.

"Enough struggling. You don't have your swords. Don't have your bending. There's nothing you can do." The fog of the chilled cell engulfs them both, the door having remained open and starting to fill the hall with it. The man turns around to fully lift him from the ground. The rough skin of his face brushes Zuko's and, with a groan of effort, he presses the last muzzle to the man's face.

It connects with a deafening click.

He reels back, reaching up to grab at the muzzle before he hurriedly reaches for his belt. He pauses when he finds the items missing, and even in Zuko's struggling brain, he makes the connection.

The second steel piece is the key to the muzzle. Zuko reaches up, feeling along the complicated bands behind his head until he finds a hole. By the time the man finds and grabs him again, he's pressed the key into it and the mechanism releases with a loud hiss. It drops from his face, and he gasps for breath, throwing the muzzle into the darkness with a clatter.

The man goes to lift him, his other hand grabbing for the key still firmly in Zuko's grasp, but he counters with a flaming kick to his stomach. It sends him reeling backwards into the frozen cell, slamming into the opposite wall. Zuko stands, his strength quickly returning to him as he takes deep, desperate breaths. He shuts the door to the cell behind him, the locks sliding into place, and runs down the hall with all the speed he can muster. Each breath is revitalizing, and the flames he summons around his fists to light his way are vibrant and large.

When he unlocks the door, he finds Azula lying limply beside Ozai, her chest twitching up and down with the same weak force as their father's. Zuko is quick to come forward and free her of her mask. The hiss of it's release resonates in the small room and she springs up as if an electric current has been run through her, gasping and panting. She feels along her face before looking up at Zuko in the dark, still on edge and ready to continue the fight. Flames roar to life around her fists and he staggers back, holding his hands up.

"Azula!" He pants, his voice ragged, "It's me!"

"Zuko." She sighs, her flames dying, "Where is he?"

"I locked him in the icebox we found Ozai in. Until another Dai Li agent gets him out, we should be alright." He kneels next to Ozai, lifting his head to get at the lock on the back. He presses it into the hole, but there is no telltale hiss. It stays in place, even when the lock springs open. The cooled blood and frozen condensation have sealed it to his face. Azula keeps a small fire over her palm to light them, sharing a glance with her brother. They don't have time to let the ice thaw or to wash away the blood. The unconscious Dai Li agent could wake at any moment. They needed him awake to even continue their escape from the palace grounds.

"Well, it'll definitely wake him up." Azula says, reaching forward with her opposite hand.

"Azula, wait—"

She rips the muzzle off in one quick move, as if she were removing a bandage from a particularly stubborn wound. The sound of tearing skin is a uniquely horrifying one.

On his first full breath, Ozai screams.


N/A: This chapter took 4 days to edit.

I guess I'm on some kind of semi-weekly posting schedule now?