I know our favorite uncle has been missed.


Miss Longueville gave a hard look to the large padlock in front of her. While it certainly appeared to be sturdy, there was no way that a simple lock and chain would be the only security measure for the esteemed Vault of the Tristan Magic Academy.

The secretary took a moment to check both ways down the hall. As expected, there was no one around. Aside from the Vault, the Void Tower held nothing of interest. Most of the rooms were used as storage, with their contents having been long since forgotten over the years, even by the ones who placed the items in the first place. Once Longueville was sure that the coast was clear, she withdrew a wand from her robes.

"Transmute," she quietly chanted, her wand pointed at the lock. She was disappointed, but not surprised, when the metal remained inert instead of sliding off the doorhandles like she wanted. "This must be at least Square Class to resist my magic," she muttered under her breath.

She tried the same spell on the chain and even the doors, but to no avail. Whoever had reinforced the Vault had been a more powerful earth mage than she. The secretary hummed contemplatively as she racked her brain to figure out another way to get into the Vault.

"Mrs. Longueville?"

The woman in question jumped, stashing away her wand while quickly turning around. At the end of the hallway was Colbert, who was looking at her in puzzlement.

"What are you doing up here?" he asked.

"Ah, I was… cleaning."

Seeing Colbert's confused expression, Longueville internally cringed. She was Osmond's personal secretary, not a maid. It was no wonder her excuse made no sense. "I mean, I can't remember ever having sorted out the Vault, so I figured I'd dust off the area and make sure everything is properly cleaned."

Thankfully, somehow, Colbert bought the poorly crafted lie. "Oh, you don't have to do that," he assured her. "We don't even go into the Vault often. And if I'm being honest, it has always been, well, disorderly." He adjusted his glasses as he glanced at the rooms down the hallway. "Much like the rest of the tower."

"I see," said Longueville, hiding a sigh of relief. "But do you never check inside the Vault to make sure everything is still inside? A thief could have picked the lock at some point."

"Oh, we don't have to worry about that," said Colbert. "The faculty monitor the Vault every night. Er, well, we're supposed to, at least." He turned and gave a small cough of embarrassment. "A-anyway, the entire Vault's been reinforced by a square class earth mage. Only the royal castle itself boasts better fortifications."

"It's impossible to break into?"

"Indeed."

"But there must be some weakness to it," Longueville insisted. "No spell is perfect, even square class magic."

"You do have a point," Colbert conceded. "Hm, I suppose that one could undo or at least weaken the enchantment if they were a square class mage. Frankly, none of the other elements would be very effective at breaching the tower. The walls are so thick that anything short of a square class spell or a cannon barrage would leave the tower unscathed."

"A cannon barrage, you say?" The secretary's eyes disappeared in the gleam of her glasses. "How would that be able to break the walls when magic would not?"

"It's a matter of force and structural integrity," Colbert was happy to explain. "Aside from earth magic, the other elements like density and substance. No matter how powerful a spell is, it is hard to break through reinforced stone without a concentrated use of force. Cannonballs can direct that force into an area small enough to penetrate but large enough to leave cracks to compromise the building's structural integrity. Enough of those will cause the reinforcement to be useless, since the stone will be too fractured to remain standing even if the individual fragments are still hard to break down."

"So the way for someone to break in would be to shatter the rocks?"

"Essentially," said Colbert. "Thankfully, we're not expecting a fleet of enemy airships any time soon." He cracked an awkward smile.

Mrs. Longueville politely laughed. "Then we have nothing to worry about," she remarked with a smile of her own.


"Mister Iroh!"

The teapot in Iroh's hand slipped from his grip, falling on its side onto the table and soaking the tablecloth with its contents. "My freshly brewed jasmine tea…" Iroh lamented. He clasped his hands together and gave the departed drink a moment of silence before turning to where Siesta was standing in his doorway.

"Sorry…" the maid apologized, seeing the mess on the table.

Iroh waved his hand dismissively. "There is no point crying over spilled tea," he said sagely. He then gave her a serious look up and down, noticing the soot that was over her uniform. "What happened to you?" he asked. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine. I think," she tried to assure him. "Um, there was a fire in the kitchen a few minutes ago."

Iroh eyed her discolored maid outfit. There was hardly a speck of white to be seen on the front. "Must have been a pretty big one," he remarked. "Was anyone hurt?"

"No, thankfully. I got the worst of it, but I'm perfectly fine."

"That is a relief to hear," Iroh said with a sigh. "So, which one of your coworkers nearly set you on fire?"

"…Me, I think."

The elderly firebender choked on air as Siesta's gaze drifted to the ground. Recovering, he raised an eyebrow. "Raise your head, Siesta. Accidents happen, there is no shame in a simple mistake. Though, I would not expect you of all people to be careless around fire," he said.

"I wasn't being careless!" Siesta protested. "At least, I don't think I was. Something, well, strange happened."

A worrying suspicion wormed its way into Iroh's mind. "Have a seat, Siesta," he offered. Once she was seated, he took a seat as well on the other side of the table. "Please, explain."

"Well, I was heating up the fire to boil some water," Siesta began. She rocked on the heels of her feet as she sat, looking down like a chided schoolchild. "I ran my hand over the flames to make sure it was ready, and I noticed as I was pulling my hand away, the fire seemed to be moving." She looked embarrassed as she continued. "I waved my hand across the fire, and it looked like the flame was following my hand. I, um, was a little distracted by that—only for a few seconds, I'm sure—and then one of the other maids called my attention. I was startled and then, fwoosh!"

Siesta threw her hands in the air dramatically. "The fire shot up and nearly burned my uniform. I tried explaining it to Chef Marteau, but he thought I was lying and kicked me out of the kitchen." Her expression soured as she looked down at the table. "It was so… odd. I didn't throw anything in the fire. And I'm pretty sure I didn't have flour, oil, or anything on my hands. It wasn't my fault, right?"

She then noticed that Iroh hadn't said a word. The young maid looked up, and saw Iroh vacantly staring at her with his mouth agape. "Um, Mister Iroh?"

"Hm?" Iroh shook himself out of his stupor. "Ah, don't worry, Siesta. These things happen at times. There's no need for you to worry."

"You believe me?"

"Of course," Iroh said readily as he reached out for the teapot and poured himself a cup. "Trust me, far stranger things have occurred then fires jumping into people's faces. Though I would advise you to be wary around open flames in the future, just to be safe."

Siesta tilted her head to the side. "Mister Iroh, is there something wrong?"

"What makes you say that, child?"

She pointed to the teapot in his shaking hands. Iroh looked down, seeing that he had poured the tea until his cup had overflown and the last of the tea was flowing across the table with the rest of the earlier spill.

"Ah, old age must be getting to me," Iroh said with a nervous chuckle. He rose to his feet. "I should clean that up before it stains—"

"Mister Iroh."

The old man froze at the sound of worry in his pupil's voice. "Yes, Siesta?"

The maid stood up and took the teapot from Iroh's trembling hands. "Tell me what's wrong. Please."

Iroh was conflicted. He needed more time to sort things through. There was much about the nuances of magic and bending that he had yet to figure out. Halkegenia's magocratic society would leave Siesta in a tenacious spot. He couldn't rush this reveal. Siesta needed this broken to her at an opportune time.

The old firebender met Seista's eyes, determined to evade her question for the time being. However, his resolve quickly melted away. Seista's expression was pleading, and her eyes were resolute. As she leaned down towards him, he found himself spellbound.

His defenses crumbled in an instant. "Sit, my child." Seeing her do so, he began, "You know that the far distant land your grand-grandfather and I came from is very different from Halkegenia, correct?"

She nodded.

"One of the differences is that our control of the elements comes from within our bodies, rather than wands or staffs," Iroh continued.

Siesta nodded again. She clearly remembered all of this but waited patiently for him to go on.

"Do you have any mages in your family?"

The maid shook her head. "None that I know of," she replied.

Iroh gave a thoughtful hum. "I suppose the best way would be to show, rather than tell. Your palm, please."

Confused, Siesta held out her hand. Iroh conjured a flame in the palm of his right hand as he gripped her hand with his left. He then slowly moved the flame over her outstretched palm.

"Mister Iroh!" Siesta squeaked in alarm.

"Calm yourself, Siesta," said Iroh. His voice was soothing, as gentle as a summer breeze on the ocean. "Look. It is a small flame. Not much bigger than a candle. Remember our exercises. Focus on your breathing."

Siesta reigned in her instinct to panic. Falling back on the exercises Iroh had taught her, the maid kept her breathing even as she watched the flame hover in her palm. As Iroh slid his right hand away from hers, she noticed that the flame began to rise and fall to the pace of her breaths. When Iroh removed his hand that had created the flame, it continued to burn brightly in the palm of Siesta's hand, neither burning her skin nor extinguishing.

The maid turned her attention from the flame to look at Iroh's twinkling eyes. "H-how?" she squeaked.

"Congratulations, my dear," said Iroh proudly. "You're a firebender, Siesta."

"A firebender?" Siesta echoed incredulously. In her surprise, she lost control of the small flame. It winked out within a second, but her attention was elsewhere. "Like you?"

He nodded.

"But, how? Not even my great-grandfather was a firebender, he just told us stories about them."

"The origins of bending is a long tale, dating back to when our people lived on the backs of lion-turtles." Iroh cleared his throat. "Ahem, but what matters is that it is hereditary. More or less. As long as someone in your family was a firebender, you have the chance to be one as well."

"Does this have to do with the lucky candle?"

Iroh chuckled. "As astute as ever. Yes, that was a traditional way of testing if a child had the potential to be a firebender. Of course, it wasn't foolproof, but it was fairly reliable. I suspect your great-grandfather brought the tradition into your family to see if any of his descendants would develop firebending as well."

"This is amazing," Siesta said. She started swirling her hand over her tea, a familiar motion she had seen Iroh do dozens of times, but frowned when she realized that nothing was happening.

"You may want to start with lighting a candle, before trying to reheat tea," Iroh advised. Then his expression grew serious. "Most importantly, we must conceal your abilities for the time being. Do you know why?"

"…because commoners can't use magic?"

"Or so the nobility claims," Iroh said. "I fear that you will attract the attention of those who wish to maintain the status quo, and I doubt they would promote you to noble status because you discovered the ability to bend fire. I must speak with the headmaster, and get a better idea of how to navigate the politics of this country before we reveal your abilities. His position should allow him to pull a few strings if he is willing." The old man sighed and shook his head. "I should have prepared earlier, but I thought I would have more time."

"It's okay, Mister Iroh," said Siesta sincerely. "Thank you. For everything."

Iroh chuckled. "It is my pleasure," he replied. "To teach such promising students, and to find one of my kin. I truly am a blessed old man." He stood up and stretched, letting his spine pop loudly. "Ah, yes. I definitely feel the old."

That got a giggle out of the young maid. "I never asked, but do you have grand kids?"

"Unfortunately, no," said Iroh. "But my nephew has become like a son to me. And his children were quite the characters, especially his eldest daughter. Let me tell you about this one time…"


Short chapter, unfortunately, but a scene that originally going to be a part of this chapter worked much better as a part of the next one, so that's how it goes.

During my hiatus I've been able to put some work into my story outlines, and I've found that Iroh's story will probably end in chapter 14/15, at about 50k-55k word count. I technically could extend it further, but Iroh is a mentor, not a shonen protagonist, so his story will end when his role is no longer the focus.

Funnily enough, I was inspired to do this story because I had another idea of Iroh having wheeled tea stand that he would take throughout the multiverse, providing advice for the people who need it. Maybe I'll revisit that idea after this story's done.

And speaking of new ideas, while I am working my next one-shot (Grim in October), I do need to start planning for the one after that. I'll be reopening the dusty suggestion box and making a formal poll in August or September.

Sorry for the long A/N. Reviews are food for a writer's soul!