All Zuko could hear was the screech of wind against cold metal.
He was on the ship again. Dreaming. That much he could tell. Higher up than last time. All the way up the command spire, looking out among the ocean. The sky was clear, the sea free of crashing waves. He could see a town, full of people moving back and forth like ants in an anthill. He couldn't recognize anything. Even the trees were unfamiliar, or from what he could see anyway. It was winter. The leaves were colored in with a faint coat of snow, providing a sharp contrast to the seaside town. Zuko had never seen snow.
Zuko looked around. The deck was empty. The bridge was empty. The battered and bruised Azula from last time nowhere to be seen.
He tried to fly again. But just like last time, his feet were solidly welded to the deck plates. Nothing.
Zuko made his way inside. Maps. Instruments. Levers. Dials. Things he had a vague familiarity with at least. He stopped in the center of the room to gaze at the navigation chart, to maybe find a clue as to where he was. But nothing. It looked as though someone had poured seawater all over it, the colors had ran to the point where words and coastlines and islands were all but illegible. Like it was some kind of abstract watercolor art, the kind Zuko never understood the admiration for.
Uncle had said details were hard to come by in dreams.
Another burst of wind from the observation deck. He could see his clothes fluttering, hear the wind's whine. But he couldn't feel it on his skin.
There was something else. The faint scratching of paper blowing in the wind. He could see it.
With little else to do, Zuko followed. Movement was more free this time. Rather than shuffling along as though the air were made of syrup he managed a brisk walk, keeping pace with the paper as it blew through the open doorway and into the hall. Enjoying his newfound ability, he sped up until he was practically jogging, making his way down corridors and stairs, deeper into the ship.
He jumped.
Crash.
Zuko landed atop the paper, crumpling it slightly with his hands. He didn't even feel himself hitting the cold steel.
It was him. His picture. Next to a bunch of characters he couldn't quite make out in the dark. Zuko stood up, making his way back towards the light.
He felt the buzzing again. It was getting louder with each step. The dream would be over soon, Zuko remembered from last time. He stopped.
It was brighter now. He could make out more detail. He could see the red seal of his father at the bottom left, below his picture. It was a royal edict.
The prophecy was wrong!
It was the same sentence over and over again.
The prophecy was wrong. The prophecy was wrong!
The buzzing was almost intolerable now. The wind was getting stronger. Zuko turned the poster to its other side.
The prophecy was wrong. The prophecy was wrong!
The writing was the same. The same red seal of the Firelord. Except instead of him it was a picture of his sister.