Chapter 1:
"You Will Learn Respect, and suffering will be your teacher."
Zuko felt a flurry of emotions, as his face burned with pain, as his own father burned his face. At first, emotions so strong they cannot be described by words flooded him, chocking him in a swirling vortex of disbelief. Then, it was replaced with an empty numbness, as if he had some internal emotion limit that had just been reached, which caused him to feel muted versions of the emotions he had just felt.
Dizzy, he stood up, the strength in his muscles simply gone, his body exhausted and his mind blank after the trauma he had just endured. His father walked away, as if nothing had just happened, as if he had not just permanently scarred his son. Ozai snapped his fingers, not even looking at Zuko, and two people Zuko no longer had mental capacity to see or comprehend picked him up and hauled him into his room. After laying on the bed in the position the servants had placed him in, Zuko regained the ability to move. Slowly, the effort to move a finger being gargantuan, he moved into a capacity better suited for sleeping, and passed out in exhaustion.
After waking up, he felt more lucid, but he (and his body) was still reeling in shock. His eyes wide, he pulled himself up and sat on his bed. The room was a blurred haze in his still bewildered mind, the red columns looking more like blobs than pillars. He sat in a sitting position, staring out one of the red and gold tinted windows for a few minutes.
Suddenly, the door knocked, and a servant entered. Zuko moved, sitting on the front of the bed, and stared directly at the servant, his eyes far wider than that of a normal human's. The servant stared at Zuko's burn, before coughing and meekly telling Zuko that his father, Firelord Ozai, wished to see him. Zuko acknowledged that he understood, and the servant vacated the room as quickly as he could.
Zuko closed his eyes, reopening them as normal instead of the unsettling, horrifically wide position he had had them in for the past few hours. He took a deep breath and stood up. He began walking as though he was a marionette, moved by some unknown entity moving him by strings attached to his body. He took another deep breath and began walking like a regular human instead of the weird marionette motions he had been making before.
As he walked to the room the servant had instructed him to meet with his father, he began to slow down and speed up at random intervals. Some servants looked at him oddly, but Zuko did not care. In fact, he felt as though he would never see them again, a feeling he felt about all the royal palace as he walked through its grand halls. Zuko stifled laughter as he reached the room the servant had directed him towards.
After entering the room, the servant had directed, Zuko knew that something terrible was going to occur. The room was a scribe room, a room in which permanent civil and military documents were spoken in front of scribes to be dispersed among the palace, and eventually, the Fire Nation. The room was rectangular, with the perimeter of the chamber lined with columns. There was a lower area that composed the main portion of the room, and in the back, there was a grand throne surrounded by light flames. On said throne was his father, Firelord Ozai. In the lower area, there was Azula, the Minister of State, and a scribe. The minister and Azula were looking at Zuko, standing in front of the two closest flames to the firelord. The scribe was in the corner, readying his writing supplies.
Zuko walked down the platform, standing in the traditional spot for one addressing the firelord when in a scribe room, farther than the two individuals standing near the closest flames, but equidistant from both individuals. Ozai began in a regal tone, "For your insolence and your inability to fight back, I strip you of your honor." Zuko felt as though the wind had been knocked out of his stomach and his gut had been punched. Ozai continued his royal mandate, "You are to be banished from the Fire Nation, and Princess Azula is to take your place as heir to the throne." The feeling Zuko had experienced before came back even stronger. "I am, however, quite merciful," Ozai said, the look on his face showing he was humored at the thought of mercy, and that whatever said mercy would be would be a twisted, impossible demand to regain his honor. "You will be provided with a Fire Nation dreadnought, and a crew to staff it. You are to capture the Avatar, and only then shall your honor be restored."
Zuko laughed internally, as the avatar had not been seen for hundreds of years. His father had sent him on an impossible mission, thinking he would chase it indefinitely, out of sight and out of mind. His father certainly had been waiting for something like this, something to allow him to cast Zuko out and to replace him with his pet-project, Azula. Azula was obviously pleased, as she allowed herself to show a smirk on her face. Normally, Azula was able to mask any and every emotion – so, evidently, she was experiencing a euphoria too great to mask.
Zuko bowed, saying he understood, and briskly walked out of the chamber. Once out, he ran to his room. After reaching his room and locking the door, he giggled. Then, he laughed. Then, he cackled. "This is ridiculous," he thought, "the avatar hasn't been seen in a hundred years, and he sends his fourteen-year-old son to find and capture him." He laughed internally again. He then felt a wave of sadness swell within him, and he collapsed onto his bed, laughing, and crying about his condition at the same time. He took a deep breath and wondered what was the come.
Another servant opened the door, this one even meeker than the one before. And with good reason, for Zuko had been known to lash out at servants before when he was furious. But Zuko composed himself, walking with the grace of a royal, even though he was no longer one. What once would have caused him great anger instead led to something else. A deep loathing poured into him, a feeling that he would one day have revenge on Azula and Ozai, and that one day he would no longer be an outcast. Taking a deep breath, he tried to create a plan.