A dark figure emerged from the shadows of the walls surrounding the Caldera Prison. He was adorned in a crimson cloak and was walking slowly with his head bowed low, veiled in the gloom of the night. Noiselessly, he passed through the gates of the prison, then stopped to lift his head and look up at the concrete monster that was built on the flank of a dormant volcano.
The intense glow of his golden eyes was dimmed by the dark bag under one of his eyes—the scar around his other eye didn't allow for such actions—and his hair underneath the hood of his cloak was disheveled from tossing and turning on his bed. He scanned the rectangular openings on the curved wall of the prison, trying to figure out which one of them his uncle was residing in.
Just then, a guard patrolling on one of the balconies that spiraled around the building spotted him.
"Who's there!" the guard shouted, but the phantom man wordlessly turned around and disappeared into the shadows once more.
-o-
Katara didn't know how long she'd been standing here, staring at that portrait on the wall. It could've been seconds or hours for all she knew. She stared at the man in the painting right in the eyes, much like she'd done with his son a few months prior—though now her leaden eyes lacked their previous vigor and compassion, taken over by venom instead. Well, there actually wasn't a name on the gold-framed portrait, but who else could this condescending man with an elaborate headpiece be but the king of these lands?
They looked so similar, the Fire Lord and his treacherous son, even if half of one's face wasn't marred with a nasty scar like the other's. But, really, it was that haughty look in their eyes that gave them away as father and son more than anything, the same look that prince had given Katara the moment he'd betrayed her.
Katara, as the natural caregiver that she was, rarely ever held grudges or truly disliked someone—but him, that bastard prince, was another thing entirely. She hated him with all her heart and soul.
No matter how hard she resisted, the memory of them, imprisoned together in the Crystal Catacombs of Old Ba Sing Se, flooded her vision. He was standing right there, not even a few steps away from her. She was holding the vial of spirit water in one hand, and with the other, she was reaching out and tentatively placing two fingers on his scar, the damaged skin rough and ragged beneath her touch. He was closing his eyes, looking so lost and confused that she wanted to hug him.
Maybe that was the reason Katara hated him so much. He'd genuinely seemed hurt at that moment, and then he'd gone and stabbed her in the back only a few minutes later.
Unfortunately for her, this one intimate moment of theirs was like a wrecking ball, breaking through the walls she'd built around her heart like it was nothing, and she was unable to hold back the surge of more visions from that night invading her mind, cursed to relive the pain and suffering all over again.
She was back in the Crystal Catacombs, watching Aang break free from his crystal tent in the Avatar State. Then a sharp blue light and crackling sounds rumbled the whole place, and suddenly he was falling, a trail of brown smoke following after him. Next, the whole world around her had turned red and she was bringing down a barrage of ice-daggers on everyone. The two Dai Li agents she'd managed to hit were lying in a pool of their blood, slowly drowning in their own blood. Aang was lying face-down on a mat in an abandoned house and she was kneeling right beside him, desperately trying to wake him up. She was running on the roof of a building and jumping to another one. A man covered in black clothing was strapping her down on a chair inside a boiling hot room. Then there was another man, a Dai Li agent, standing at the doorway of her prison cell, smirking at her from under his helmet—
"Mikai!"
Katara snapped out of her thoughts with a gasp. Now she was back in the communal area of the Royal Harem, holding a tray of gruel and spices for seasoning, no longer a waterbender or even considered a human—just another slave to the Fire Lord and everyone else in his and his son's joint harem quarters, existing solely to be exploited.
She looked around disorientedly and caught the angry eyes of Ayuki, the maid responsible for overseeing her, scowling at her from a few steps away. And in front of Katara was a small group of girls kneeling on crimson cushions around a low table and a lady-in-waiting standing behind them, all of them looking at her confusedly. She'd been serving breakfast to them before zoning out on the Fire Lord's portrait. She just hoped she hadn't been out for too long.
"Mikai!" Ayuki yelled again. "Did I say you could take a break?! Get back to work!"
Katara curtsied hastily to the maid and the girls, still a bit shaken up from her unexpected trip down memory lane. This was the exact reason she'd banned herself from thinking of that night or her family long ago.
As she moved on to the next table in line, the delicate rays of the dawning sun poured into the harem from barred windows, lighting up the vast hall in an ethereal glow. Loads of other slaves were hustling all around her to serve breakfast to the remaining rows of tables laid out in the harem.
The waterbender curtsied to another group of girls, then silently placed several of the plates atop her tray before them while they continued their conversation about fashion as if she wasn't even there, as if she was just some fly buzzing around them—definitely noticeable, but annoying and not worth giving attention to.
If Katara was anything like her previous self, she would've burst a blood vessel over getting treated like this. But she didn't. For one, she really couldn't care less what these people thought of her anymore, and also she didn't exactly have the luxury of talking back.
Not that she actually wanted to talk to them—or anyone else, for that matter. For all of its hardship and cruelty, this was one thing she didn't entirely loathe about the harem. Having just come out of a two-month-long solitary confinement only a few days ago, she didn't want anything to do with people, really. It just felt… odd to always be among so many people, and even odder to be speaking to them. There was just something about having more than just the darkness of her lonely prison cell and her darkest thoughts accompanying her throughout the day that made her uneasy.
She'd realized, over the past couple of days, that she actually missed prison, where it was always quiet and she was always alone, even with the guards constantly monitoring her. She missed the silence, the peace, the tranquility—whatever peace was nowadays anyway. But at least here, in the gilded cages of the harem, she wasn't expected—or rather, allowed—to speak unless spoken to or look anyone in the eye.
Shaking herself out of these thoughts, Katara finished pouring tea for the girls and curtsied again. While she was making her way to the next table, her stomach grumbled loudly. She was no stranger to starving, so she was able to stay composed against the more than inviting smell of gruel she'd been carrying around all morning, but spirits did she want to stuff her mouth with it, consequences be damned. And there was that one part of her, the ghost of her past bullheadedness, that kept reminding her she had to survive off the leftovers of the maids and had to consider herself lucky if she scored a mostly-eaten bread and maybe some uncooked potatoes on the side.
Of course, she didn't do it. She never would. She didn't complain either—couldn't, for her escape plan's sake. No matter how unfair the world was, no matter how she was forced to work day and night on just a few hours of sleep, how much the maids beat her during harem etiquette lessons in the name of correcting her technique, or how many times they insulted her and her heritage, she couldn't stand up for herself. And that, perhaps, was what hurt her the most.
Stopping at the next table where three young women chatted with one another, Katara wearily curtsied and bent down to place some of the plates on the table, her whole body aching from exhaustion, hunger and the beatings she'd taken especially to the arms.
"What's this?!" the girl in the middle exclaimed as she was setting down the third plate, "How many times do I have to tell you damned peasants I don't eat gruel! Go get me something else!"
Katara bowed her head lower and huffed lightly through her nose. True, she gave no mind to all the names these ashmakers called her, but it still hurt her pride to have to obey them. But she had no other choice—she was playing for the long run, and all of this humility would be worth it in the end when the time came for her to escape.
"My apologies, miss," she replied politely and picked up the plates, "I will be back with another dish at once."
She curtsied and turned to leave, but the same voice stopped her.
"Hold on a second…"
Katara turned back around to the trio, waiting jadedly for another ridiculous order no doubt. To her surprise, she heard the girl snicker instead.
"You're the savage from the Water Tribes, aren't you?" The mirth in her tone was clear as day. "I'd heard you'd arrived. Mikai, is it? It's such an honor to officially make your acquaintance."
The other girls at the table giggled behind their hands. Only for a moment, Katara lifted her head to glance at the girl that was doing the talking. She was a lot older than her, probably in her early 20s, and was tall, slender and her skin was almost as pale as the marble floors—common traits Katara had found most Fire Nation nobility shared. Her chestnut hair and brown eyes were practically glowing in the sunlight, and her lips, painted red, were twisted up in a smirk.
"Likewise, ma'am," Katara replied calmly, wishing the girl would just stop talking and let her go on with her work.
"I heard you're the waterbending master of the Avatar. Or were, I guess I should say," the girl continued amusedly. "You know, I've never seen waterbending in real life. We'd love a demonstration. Isn't that right, girls?"
Her friends nodded enthusiastically while Katara gritted her teeth, her eyes still glued to her tray. Thankfully, the placid expression she'd donned didn't betray her growing anger. She could let all the insults on her humanity slide, but she drew the line at her waterbending, or lack thereof.
Yet, somehow, she maintained her composure.
"I can't waterbend, ma'am," she admitted meekly, trying and failing to mask the pain in her voice. "Not anymore."
A beat of silence, then all of the girls suddenly broke out into laughter. They didn't even bother to hide their amusement behind their hands this time.
"How does that even happen?" the brunette cackled.
Katara shut her eyes, her throat constricting at the memory of losing her bending. And she couldn't answer the question. This wound was still too fresh.
"Got what she deserved," said the girl on the left to her friends.
The brunette stifled her laughter with great effort, then pouted at Katara in fake sympathy.
"Don't worry," she said, "If you behave well, maybe the Madam will give you back your bending in the future." She had to cover her mouth to hide her grin that was betraying her act, then quickly got back into character. "I mean, just look at the harem guards. They're your kind. When they were bought from the slave markets, they were just like you—mannerless, feral beasts. But we educated them, and now no one bothers them anymore. So, what I'm saying is, you just gotta hang in there and hope you have what it takes to be a proper human. You can do it. I believe in you."
"That's enough, Shila."
Katara turned to the direction the voice came from. A girl her age, maybe a little bit younger, was approaching her with a lady-in-waiting in tow. Her pale skin complexion, lean frame, and the way she carried herself so confidently gave away her origins as a Fire Nation noble.
"Or what?" the brunette—Shila, apparently—said as the girl and her handmaiden came to a stop beside the table. Shila looked at Katara and her sincere act faded away into a sly smile. "What's she gonna do? Waterbend at me?"
Katara's hold on the tray's handles tightened into a white-knuckled grip. She opened her mouth to retort—and immediately blow her cover as the broken girl she'd worked so hard to preserve—but the newly-arrived girl spoke first, glowering with her hands on her hips.
"Oh, stop it, will you? We all know you're just jealous because she actually might get to be summoned by Lord Ozai and outrank you, when the only chance you had of becoming a concubine was years ago before Prince Zuko was banished. Now he has a girlfriend and you'll never see his face. Stop harassing people just because you're gonna rot away in here like the rest of us."
Shila's smile dropped instantly, and the girls sitting with her were left wide-eyed. Spite oozed out of her eyes as she glared at the girl and then at Katara.
Then, in the blink of an eye, her anger got erased completely from her face and she began smiling innocently again.
"I think you confused me and yourself, sweetheart," she told the younger girl. "You see, unlike some of us, I'm not just some one-time fling. No man will ever use me, then throw me away like dirty laundry." Her smile turned devious. "Just you wait till Zuko gets one good look at me. He'll dump his girlfriend for me. And even if he doesn't, everyone knows they fight every day—it's only a matter of time before they break up. So no, honey, I'm not going to 'rot away in here like the rest of you'. I'll be Fire Lady one day, and you will all bow to me."
The girl simply snorted in response. "Yeah, you keep telling yourself that."
Shila kept smiling, though the irritation behind her eyes was plain obvious.
"There's no point in denying the inevitable, love," she said at last, then waved her hand dismissively. "Now go away, both of you. You're blocking my morning sun." She turned to Katara. "Have someone bring us breakfast."
Katara curtsied, as she was obliged to do so when receiving an order. She was perplexed as to what had just happened, why anyone in this cursed country would help her in any way. It was probably just another game they were trying to play on her—get her to trust them so that they can freely question her on Aang's whereabouts, then get rid of her once they have the information.
She walked away from the table to pass on Shila's order to someone, but didn't make it two steps before a hand latched onto her upper arm.
"Hey."
She turned around to face the girl that had helped her, eyes cast on her tray.
"I know you don't know me, but I know you," the girl said, letting go of Katara's arm, "Well, I know of you. I meant I've heard tales of you."
Katara's brows knitted in confusion.
"My dad's the general that attacked the Northern Air Temple," the girl explained. "He told me he saw you taking on, like, six tanks at once. He hates you for destroying his stuff, of course, but I personally find you really amazing. I'm not a bender, but even if I was, I doubt I could fight off a single soldier!"
Katara glanced up at the girl. She was smiling—like actually grinning, not smirking or sneering like everyone else had done these past months. And she seemed genuine too. But Katara knew of another Fire Nation person who'd seemed genuine at first, and her putting her trust in him had ended in Aang almost getting killed and her being thrown here.
So she lowered her gaze onto her tray and tried to seem as distant as possible. "Thank you, ma'am."
An awkward moment of silence passed, then the girl offered the waterbender her hand. "I'm Lui, by the way. It's nice to meet you."
"It is a pleasure to meet you too, ma'am," Katara said, curtsying formally. She felt Ayuki's watchful eyes on her, telling her to resume her chores from over Lui's shoulder. "But if you'll excuse me, I should get back to work."
She didn't need to look at Lui to know her smile had faltered.
"Oh, okay," the girl said, deflatedly drawing her hand back. "I'll see you later, then?"
Katara curtsied again and uttered a faint, "Ma'am," before walking away.
Maybe Lui actually was a good person and maybe she actually meant good, but Katara couldn't take that risk. She couldn't trust anyone anymore, especially not someone who was a daughter of a Fire Nation general. These people were all lying, manipulative fiends. They were the enemy, and they would always be the enemy.
A/N
Huzzah! You're still reading? What have I done to earn such an honor? (haha get it? :D cuz... like... I said honor, and Zuko's obsessed with his honor... okay, I'll be escorting myself out now)
Seriously, though, I really hope you, the most wonderfulest readers on the platform, are enjoying these Zutara-less, set-up chapters. As I wrote in a previous note, they're important to the story, so I can't skip them. But the good news is the introductory parts are finally over and we'll finally start getting some action starting next chapter! Woo-hoo!
By the way, all this harem stuff going on is actually pretty historically accurate, believe it or not. I mean, most of my knowledge is based on this tiny little TV show my Turkish readers might know called 'Muhteşem Yüzyıl' (or 'The Magnificent Century' in English), but I've done a lot of research on harems on top of that show and researched about the Ming Dynasty's harem too. So, you know, it's not all made-up.
For example, the harem guards being Water Tribe (thus, dark-skinned) is something I took directly from the Ottoman Imperial Harem. Harem officials would go to the slave markets and buy African slaves, then immediately castrate them. The reasoning behind this was, in the case of a concubine sleeping with them and getting pregnant, everyone would know if the baby is the emperor's or a guard's by its skin color.
Also, while we're on this topic, I want to address something that might have confused you while reading. It's about why there's Fire Nation nobility in Ozai and Zuko's harems, when the only people we saw entering their harem in Chapter 5 were slaves. This is another thing I took from the Ottoman Empire. While there were a bunch of slaves there as well, it was quite common for noblemen to gift their daughters to the emperor, because the girls there got the best education in the country on embroidery, playing instruments, singing, dancing, calligraphy, etiquette, history… anything they'd need to be a well-mannered lady—and also because they may get to become the next queen one day, and that's something anyone would want.
Alright, I think that's all for this chapter. Thank you all so much for sticking with me. I'll see you later!
PS: I'd love it if you could leave a review. I can't tell you how much it motivates me to write faster when I receive an email saying I got a review. It doesn't have to be very long either—just a 'hey, nice chapter' or something would suffice :)
PPS: Apparently it wasn't all for this chapter lmao, sorry for keeping you here for so long. I've decided to split this story into multiple fics and turn it into a series, called the 'The Ocean of Flames' series. This fic will be 18 chapters long. Now this number is only an estimation—it's not set in stone and may change in the future depending on how long I want the future chapters to be, but that's more or less how long it's gonna be. I already have a sequel planned out, and there's a great chance this series might even turn into a trilogy.
EDIT: Omfg I'm so sorry for dragging this out, but I just gotta say this one last thing. Katara's harem name, Mikai, means 'uncivilized, undeveloped' in Japanese. I imagined that Japanese would sorta be like the ancient language of the Fire Nation (like Latin is in our world). Idk if Katara knows what it means yet, but I doubt she'd care either way—calling her uncivilized is far from the worst thing the Fire Nation has done to her.
Okay, that's it. Bye!