Zuko sits alone in the confines of his chambers within the Earth Kingdom Palace, staring out the window while his thumb idly traces the rim of a porcelain cup he's balancing on his thigh. Perched high atop the ancient city of Ba Sing Se, thousands of buildings stretch across the landscape like a carpet below his feet. The moon hangs low in the sky. But though his eyes may be trained on the cityscape, Zuko's mind is somewhere else entirely.
His bed is nothing short of a battlefield, scattered with disheveled linens and pillows. Every toss and turn has been a useless attempt to escape the clutches of his conscience.
He betrayed his uncle. His uncle.
He betrayed the man who was there for him — with him — through thick and thin. The man whose shoulders he wept on after his mother's death, whose hand he squeezed in agony after his Agni Kai, blinded and terrified. He betrayed the one man who believed in him when no one else would — loved him when no one else did.
Now that man is in prison, and it's Zuko who put him there.
"It's best not to dwell on the past, Prince Zuko," Uncle would say during the days of exile on his ship. Zuko can almost hear the clinking of a Pai Sho tile on a wooden table, smell the jasmine tea. "To linger on the past is to abandon the present — and what pleasure is there in life if you do not enjoy the present?"
Nostalgia floods his heart with sorrow. Oh, how valued a moment is when it becomes a memory.
The memories haunt him even in his sleep, etched into his mind like a scar — how Uncle dressed Zuko up and did his hair for a date. How he so patiently trained Zuko in firebending and lightning redirection. How he took care of him after Zuko let the Avatar's bison go.
Zuko shuts his eyes, his heart rate abnormally high.
He made the right choice, right? Choosing his father's forgiveness over a life of serving tea and wondering what could have been? Azula says Father even loves him again. She says that he wouldn't have officially pardoned Zuko otherwise, that this amnesty is proof of it. She's telling the truth, right?
And Uncle will come to respect his decision. Right? He's a wise, forgiving man. He'll understand why Zuko did what he did.
Right?
Zuko groans, squeezing the bridge of his nose. Why is he even doubting himself? Siding with Azula was his only choice. How else could he have regained Father's trust and respect? How else could he have proven that he's more than a mere stain on the royal bloodline?
Besides, the Fire Nation is his home. For better or for worse, it's where he grew up. He wants to sleep in his childhood bed again. Wants to wander mindlessly in the hallways he used to get lost in, to sit by the turtleduck pond and watch the adorable creatures paddle about. But more than anything, he wants to rest — he's certainly earned it after everything he's been through.
He's so, so tired.
Zuko made his bed, and he will lie in it — though he wishes his return home didn't have to come at Uncle's expense. Even worse, the old man isn't the only person Zuko betrayed that fateful night.
There's also the matter of the Water Tribe girl. She's another life he ruined. Another person he left to rot in prison.
That girl trusted him. She bared her soul to him. Offered to help him. Him. The guy who chased after her and her friends across the world. In fact, she's done it twice now — first when Azula shot Uncle, then again in the catacombs.
All this time, he thought of her as nothing more than an obstacle. A faceless goon who held him back from his mission. But she… she isn't a bad person. He sees it now, one life-condeming betrayal too late.
She has a family — people she loves, people she'll never see again. She's compassionate and protective of those she loves — just like Zuko. It's not fair that she has to spend the rest of her life in a dingy prison because of him, that she has to pay the price of his decision.
Not only that, but she has so much more in common with Zuko than he could've ever imagined. She, too, has lost her mother — to the Fire Nation, no less. When she told him about her mother, choking on her tears, a part of him longed to reach out, to share his own story. To tell her of how the Fire Nation stole his mother from him as well.
Her loss, her pain connects her past to his with shared grief and a late mother's love. He doesn't think he can ever get over that fact.
Zuko knows he shouldn't have empathy for her. She's an enemy, a prisoner of war — one of the biggest reasons he failed to capture the Avatar. He shouldn't feel bad for her. But that night when they were trapped together in the catacombs, the girl who stood before him was no enemy of his.
He's never seen such tenderness in an enemy's eyes. Never felt such comfort, such peace in an enemy's presence. Never had their feather-light fingertips brush against his scar so gently. She's forever blurred the rigid lines between friend and foe.
Zuko releases a heavy breath. He can't think of her — or anyone else, for that matter. Like Uncle said, he must steel himself and focus on the path ahead. Dwelling on the past will only bring more shame and guilt.
Gazing out at the houses of Ba Sing Se glimmering under the moonlight, he raises the cup resting on his thigh to his lips and downs the remaining fire whiskey inside. The alcohol burns a trail down his throat, and he winces but welcomes the acrid sensation with open arms.
During his childhood, palace protocol forbade him from consuming alcohol — and when he grew older, Uncle kept it far away from him, dubbing it "desperate man's poison". So Zuko never really had a reason to seek it out — until, one day, he could no longer bear the venom of his guilt eating away at him. It all began with a single cup, poured with trembling hands in an attempt to drown out his thoughts. And with each sip, he felt the burdens of his soul lighten, the knots of tension in his muscles unravel. In whiskey, he found asylum from the torment of his own mind.
For him, it's no longer just a drink but a best friend.
'What other option does he have?' he thinks mockingly. 'Open up to Mai or Ty Lee? Cry in their arms?' Zuko can never be certain that they won't sell him out to Azula the moment he turns his back. His only other alternatives are Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom soldiers, Dai Li agents, and silent maids who tread cautiously in his presence. He has one he can fully trust. No one he can confide in.
Ergo, his newfound love for alcohol.
Reaching for the porcelain pitcher on the small, round table next to the divan, Zuko goes to pour himself another cup. By the time he decides he's had his fill for the night, his head is swimming and his surroundings seem to spin faster still, a whirlwind of blurred shapes and shadows.
He sways as he walks to his bed, and throws himself on it face first. Then he waits, and waits, and waits for sleep to find him. He even counts to himself — but all his treacherous mind produces are foggy memories of Uncle, encased in crystals with disappointment carved on his face, and the Water Tribe girl holding her dead friend.
The moon is already nearing the horizon when he finally drifts into sleep. He doesn't get more than a few hours of rest before the first rays of the sun illuminate the sky, and he rises with it by nature. The rest of his day unfolds much like yesterday, and the days before that. He has breakfast with Azula and her friends — proceeds to endure a grueling, day-long war meeting with her and the Head of the Dai Li to cement their conquest of the city — at last, he retreats to his chambers, where he numbs his mind with alcohol until sleep claims him.
It'll pass, he tells himself again and again. He's just adjusting to a huge change in his life, that's all. It takes time.
All these thoughts, these sleepless nights will pass once he's back home — once he's seen that his father has indeed forgiven him, that he has his honor back. Everything will be alright.
Katara is unconscious when they move her. It must've been something they put in her food or drink that knocked her out. She doesn't know how or when she got here. Doesn't know where she is, where she's being taken to. The only thing remembers is that she got strangely drowsy after her meal, and woke up somewhere else.
This room is similar to her old cell — small, metal everywhere, a mat on the floor for her to sleep on. Except, it's not a cell at all. Steel shelves protrude from the walls, and the door lacks any bars. She's on a ship, and she suspects that this used to be a storage room of some sort before her relocation. It's impossible to mistake the rhythmic rocking of the very floor she sits on, swaying gently from side to side — even more so to disregard the waves of the ocean she feels coursing in her veins, crashing against the ship's hull far below her.
Katara has missed this — having this kind of power. To know that the mere idea of her presence near water has scared the Fire Nation into converting a storage room into a makeshift prison. It reminds her of the warrior she used to be, the fear she used to instill in her enemy's heart. It fills her with pride — but also, somehow, with sorrow. This is a testament to how far she's fallen from grace. From this height, it's almost impossible to bend a drop of the sea. Not in her current state, on the brink of starvation.
She has no idea how long it's been since she's been captured, since she's last seen the sky. Could be weeks, could be months. It's difficult to keep track of time when every single day is the same — the same four walls she stares at, the same marks on the floor she tracks with her jagged nails. Her meals consist of leftovers, served sporadically with days between each serving. Similarly, she's allowed to drink water only when absolutely necessary — with her hands restrained behind her by a Dai Li agent, while another pours a scant cup of water down her throat.
At this point, she can barely lift an arm.
And yet, the power of the ocean continues to tingle inside her. It's tormenting to feel the sheer vastness of the water lingering just beneath her fingertips, to know that it's right there, waiting to be bent to her will — and she's too weak to make a grasp for it.
It's insulting. Downright humiliating.
So, Katara makes use of her bending in a different way. She sleeps while the sun is up, reserves her waking hours for when the pull of the moon grows within her. It's then that she sits cross-legged on her mat, silent and her back turned to the door — like she does tonight.
The guards probably think she's gone mad, sitting in that spot for hours, staring at nothing but the wall she's memorized like the back of her hand. Perhaps she has — isolation has a way of unraveling even the strongest of minds. But she isn't looking at the wall. Her eyes are closed, and she's concentrating on the power of the moon flowing in her blood. Her whole body has gone numb from channeling the ancient energy.
Katara can almost feel Yue sitting next to her while she chats with her only remaining friend. She shares her life story, laughs, grieves her freedom and her old life in the spirit's comforting presence. Sometimes, against her better judgment, she asks Yue about her family and friends. How they are, if they think Katara is dead, what's going through their minds. If Aang is alive.
Deep down, she knows her efforts are futile — that this is nothing more than a one-way conversation between her and the Moon Spirit. But she can't stop herself from hoping for Yue to appear, just once, to reassure her that everyone she loves is well.
And sometimes, those questions begin to swirl inside her mind in a whirlpool until they blend together. All the thoughts, all the emotions she tries to reign in burst out of the neat little boxes she's created for them in her mind. They spiral out of control — leave her with a dizzy head and a chest so tight it might explode.
Yet there are no tears. Never any tears. She has no water left in her to spare.
At this point, she can usually tell beforehand whether she'll have a breakdown. She's even developed a strategy to divert it. When her thoughts get too chaotic, too unbearable, she redirects her focus elsewhere to the best of her abilities. Specifically, to someone.
She thinks about the Fire Prince. He doesn't deserve the dignity of being addressed by name. To use his name would humanize him, create a subconscious bond between them — and she simply will not allow that.
Katara thinks about their brief time alone together under Ba Sing Se. How tired and broken he seemed, his eyes fluttering shut as her fingers brushed his scar. How his shattered facade of strength revealed the humanity beneath. For a moment, she'd genuinely believed there was goodness in him, that there was more to him than met the eye.
Then she thinks about the moment he attacked Aang, and all her anxiety regarding her family instantly morphs into rage.
"I thought you had changed!"
"I have changed."
Every time Katara remembers the trust she put in him, she wants to smash her head into the nearest wall. How could she let him manipulate her so easily? How could she fall for his act? If he had truly changed, if he hadn't intervened, she and Aang would've escaped before the Dai Li arrived. Aang would've lived, and Katara would've been by his side.
If she wasn't such a gullible idiot, she could've ended that traitor while they were alone. But she was. She was idiotic. She trusted the liar. She trusted him, and he took everything she held dear in return.
"The Fire Nation took my mother away from me," she'd confessed to him in tears.
"I'm sorry," he'd replied. "That's something we have in common."
Oh, that sly bastard. He knew exactly how to toy with her emotions. Get her to lower her guard. She bets his mother is alive and well. The woman is probably cozied up in her obnoxiously luxurious palace, watching innocent people burn to death for sport.
Katara wonders what she'd do if she ever got to see him again. At times, she imagines him shackled to a prison wall. Her hands — the same ones that once reached out to him with compassion — are now covered in the blood that plasters his face. Other times — times when she's feeling particularly vindictive — she imagines them both in the South Pole, where he lies paralyzed on the snowy ground at her feet. There, she towers over him as judge, jury, and executioner, melting the ice beneath him until he is completely submerged under the frigid water. His wide eyes beg her for mercy he will never receive.
She feels no remorse, no sympathy at all as she coldly watches the life behind his eyes fizzle out. No more mercy for the enemy. No more forgiveness. They will suffer like she has — she will see to it herself.
Because Katara will get out of here. It doesn't matter where they take her — the Fire Nation will soon collapse under the weight of the lives it's destroyed. Soon, her family will lead the invasion on the Day of the Black Sun.
They will come for her. Rescue her. She will be free.
Katara will keep her head down until then, patiently bide her time until she's reunited with her family. But when the Fire Lord is captured and the war is won, she won't leave the Fire Nation right away. No, she'll stick around just a little longer to search for the traitor prince. The coward will no doubt go into hiding while his nation crumbles around him.
She won't leave any stone unturned looking for him. And once she finds him, she'll teach him what happens to those who wrong her. Maybe she'll bring him home as her prisoner — give him a taste of his medicine.
All her suffering won't have been in vain. She will have her revenge.
Katara wakes abruptly to the thunderous puffing of the ship's engines. In an instant, her eyes snap open and she jolts into a sitting position, heart pounding in her chest. Whether it's her warrior reflexes or because she was in the middle of a nightmare, she can't tell. Ragged breaths escape her as she clutches her parched throat.
Will they ever end, these nightmares? With a frustrated groan, she rubs her eyes. Tries to force the image of Sokka's lifeless eyes into one of the boxes in her mind — to lock the box and throw away the key.
Katara shuts her eyes and inhales deeply.
Lock the box. Throw away the key.
Sokka is alive. He's waiting for her. She will go back to him. She will. One day.
With another deep breath, she opens her eyes, the image locked away — or so she hopes. She glances around her cell, trying to make sense of the engine noise that stirred her from her sleep. The ship has stopped — that much is for certain. She no longer feels its hull cutting through the waves. Instead, it sways gently in place.
So, they've arrived. Katara's latest prison.
She wonders what it will be like. Will her cell be smaller than this one? Will they let her out to the courtyard? See the moon again? Will she finally have someone real to talk to?
It takes a while after the ship docks for anyone to come and get her. Eventually, the familiar sound of boots approaches her cell. They halt and the door gets unlocked. With a creak, it swings open, revealing two Fire Nation soldiers in skull-helmets. Katara squints against the sudden onslaught of torchlight flooding her vision. The soldiers enter the cell.
"Get up!" one of them barks.
She does as she's told. No need for an unnecessary fight. Her weak arms tremble as she slowly pushes herself off the floor.
From the edge of her vision, spots the silhouette of one of the soldiers bearing a large, iron object that looks like a halved circle linked together by a hinge. The other soldier clutches a swathe of black fabric. Notably, neither of them appear to be carrying shackles.
The soldier with the object stops midway into the cell, while the one with the cloth continues to advance. While Katara is straightening up, his gloved hands suddenly latch onto her arms and shove her toward the soldier lurking behind him.
"Wha—" she starts, but her voice breaks, hoarse from disuse.
She topples to her knees with a grunt, landing right in front of the soldier. Pain explodes in her kneecaps and shoots up her spine. Katara whips her head around, ready to lash out at the man behind her, but the words die in her throat when she notices the other soldier closing in. He raises the object in his hand horizontally, level with her neck. And it's only then that what it is dawns on her.
It's a collar.
They're putting a collar on her, like her people would on a polar bear dog.
Katara's eyes widen in realization. Her blood turns to ice.
She's put up with a lot of humiliation since she was imprisoned, but a collar… This is too far. Too far.
With her heart in her throat, she makes a desperate attempt to crawl away, but the soldier behind her presses firmly down on her shoulders. She tries to wriggle out of his hold to no avail. He's using so much force that she can already feel bruises blossoming on her knees. Katara looks up at the man in front of her with her eyes burning. He remains indifferent, propping one side of the collar against her throat without a hint of sympathy.
In that moment, time stands still, the world reduced to the cool touch of metal against her skin. Every instinct screams for her to fight, to resist. But as the other half of the collar closes around her neck, Katara finds herself paralyzed.
The collar locks around her neck with a neat click.
"NO!" she wants to scream, but the pressure on her throat stifles her. All she manages to let out is a guttural growl.
Her fingers claw at the collar. The soldier behind her binds her hands in his grip.
The other soldier pulls something out of the sash around his waist — a small, iron stick with a curved end. He leans over and inserts the rod into the inside of the collar at her nape. He begins twisting it — and with each twist, the collar squeezes tighter and tighter around Katara's throat. The little bumps lining the inside begin to dig into her skin, constrict her windpipe.
Before long, breathing itself starts to become too difficult, and she begins gasping for air.
The man keeps twisting in cold blood until he draws the stick out from her nape, and the other man finally lets her go. Katara collapses to the floor, chest heaving with each rasping breath.
And amidst the chaos of her struggle for air, she becomes acutely aware of something else within her slipping away — something far more fundamental.
Pure, unadulterated horror grips her heart as she feels the flow of chi in her veins begin to falter. Feels its paths clogging up. Like the tide receding from a shore, the power of the ocean around her wanes, retracting gradually from her limbs.
Katara's eyes sting with tears she can't shed while she desperately clings to the remnants of her bending. But no matter how hard she fights, how fiercely she struggles against the encroaching darkness, she feels it slipping from her grasp like grains of sand through her fingers.
With each passing moment, her connection to her element dwindles. Until, finally, the last vestiges of her chi vanish into the void — and she is left lying on the cold floor, eyes wide, unable to breathe, and her bending wrenched away from her.
In the silence that envelops her, Katara can hear nothing but her labored breaths, each inhale and exhale amplified in her ears. Heaviness infuses her whole body, as if there's molten lead in her veins. Her limbs are unresponsive to her will. Her head is swimming.
The chi that once responded to her every whim now lies dormant within her, mocking her with its stillness. She can't feel the sea around her. Can't see, can't hear anything.
Without her element coursing through her, Katara feels naked. Exposed. Without it, she feels pieces of her very being missing, like her arm or leg has been cut clean off. Without it, she's nothing more than a child caught alone in a snowstorm, with no way of knowing which way is home — so very weak and lost.
Without it, she's powerless. Utterly useless. Just as she'd been when her mother died. When her father left to fight in the war. When Aang died. It leaves her empty inside — empty, and all alone in the world. Truly, wholly alone.