Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Nia first arrived in the Republic, she wanted to burn it down.

Just two months ago, she saw an advertisement that the GREAT United Republic was accepting young workers and families to come and work. She thought it was quite unusual, especially since the Republic was barely founded 4 years ago. It felt rushed accepting people already, but nevertheless, it was better than going back to the Fire Nation Capital and having to re encounter her family.

Nia heard about all of the propaganda that the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom released about the United Republic, how it was built from the ashes of the final battle in the war, and instead of bringing despair, it would bring hope for all nations, a ‘beacon of hope’ (or so the propaganda insisted). Nia had scoffed. Hope didn’t pay rent.

Eventually, she was right: the Republic was bullshit. The United Republic was a nation too young to become better than two ancient kingdoms immediately. First of all, it was like an average small Fire Nation town, and maybe even worse. Most of the buildings were half-built and looked like they hadn’t had a serious improvement in months. It was honestly disappointing. There weren’t as many people as she had expected. She kind of understood why there weren’t too many people. Everyone was busy rebuilding their towns and recovering from the war, which made the thought of migration look stupid, especially since there were thousands of refugees scattered across the world who just wanted to return to their homes. 

As Nia stepped off the ship very tiredly, she processed the new reality she was facing. This is a new start, away from everything. Away from them. You get a second chance. The harbor sprawled before her, a patchwork of half-built towers and crumbling roads. Far from the economic powerhouse promised, it resembled a dying Fire Nation colony, minus the dignity. A few listless workers hauled lumber; refugees haggled over pitiful wages. No wonder migration numbers were low. Who’d abandon their war-torn homes for this?

Somewhere in this mess, an Earth Kingdom landlord waited with a shabby apartment, and somewhere beyond that, a future… maybe. She contacted him for a new apartment he was renting to newcomers a month before arriving, which was apparently in the downtown area of the city. Nia had no clue where that could be, but she would eventually discover that and make her way there. 

The air reeked of fish and wet mortar, a stench so thick Nia’s stomach lurched. She tried stepping further away from the ship to avoid the smell, but it was still there. The place was strangely silent, but also filled with noise from afar, with noises of construction, yells from the markets, and distant talking from the migration points.  Then, a child’s laughter—bright and sudden, slicing through the grime. It unsettled her more than the noise.1

At the immigration post, a woman with hollow eyes and fraying hair took Nia’s papers. She looked like she hadn’t slept for a few days. Her eye bags were notorious from every single angle, and her hair was messy. 

The woman skimmed through the papers, verifying if they were legal. Nia felt like she was reading through them at an agonizing pace rather than just skimming, which made her patience shorter than it already was.

The woman raised an eyebrow, “Fire nation? Rare these days. Though the Fire Lord visits sometimes.”

Nia’s jaw clenched. “Huh…. how fortunate,” she lied. That title, Fire Lord, was a brand against old wounds. It tasted like smoke and betrayal. 

The woman stamped Nia’s papers and handed them to her. “Welcome to the Republic,” she said. Nia left the post without saying another word, still absorbing the atmosphere of the new nation.

The sun was already beginning its descent, casting long shadows over the half-constructed skylines. Nia’s bag thumped heavily against her hip as she walked along the narrow dock, dodging puddles and aimless porters. Her fingers curled tighter around her papers. No directions. No map. Just a name and a street she didn’t recognize.

Then came the voice: too loud, too fast, too close.

“Watch out!”

Nia barely had time to turn before someone barreled into her side, sending her stumbling sideways—directly toward the edge of the dock.

Nia didn’t have time to get her bearings. The dock sloped downward, the ground slick with sea spray and gods knew what else. She was mid-step when the ground trembled.

A whoosh of air slammed into her from behind, and she felt a gust lift her hair.

Then… THUD.

A massive shadow dropped beside her with a bellow, and the force of it sent her stumbling backward—toward the water.

“WOAH—!” a voice yelled overhead.

Something tackled her around the waist at the last second, dragging her back just inches from the dock’s edge.

Nia found herself on the ground, half-tangled with a stranger and inches from the ocean.

“Are you okay?! Appa didn’t mean it! He gets excited around docks!”

She looked up, coughing out sea air and rage.

“WHAT THE HELL IS AN APPA?!”

The man grinned, like that explained everything. “Oh. That big guy.” He pointed over his shoulder.

Nia’s eyes followed, and her jaw dropped. A giant, flying, six-legged bison was snorting at the end of the dock, tail flicking lazily. The beast sneezed, nearly blowing over a crate.

The stranger, tall, scruffy, and way too proud of himself, held out a hand. “Sokka. Local hero, occasional hazard.”

She stared at his hand. “You almost killed me.”

“Yeah, but almost. So technically I also saved you.”

“You almost killed me,” Nia repeated, swatting dust off her sleeves as she stood. “With your flying... thing.”

“Flying bison,” Sokka corrected helpfully, like it was the most normal sentence ever uttered. “His name’s Appa. Don’t take it personally, he likes to make dramatic entrances.”

“I was almost launched into the ocean.” Her tone was flat. “And I just got here.”

“Well then, welcome to Republic City!” Sokka said with a wide grin, arms spread like he was presenting a prize. “Where chaos is tradition.”

Nia scowled. “I’m looking for a place. A rental downtown. Earth Kingdom guy, goes by… uh… Ping?” She fumbled through her travel papers.

“Ping!” Sokka’s face lit up. “Yeah, I know him. Owns those weird apartments above the noodle place that always smells like garlic and regret. I can take you!”

Nia blinked. “Why would I trust someone who nearly killed me two minutes ago?”

“Because,” he said with that same maddening grin, “I also saved you two minutes ago.”

She narrowed her eyes.

He held out his arm, mock-gallant. “Come on. You look like you could use a guide who won’t make you cry or overcharge you.”

Nia huffed. “Fine. But if your sky bison comes anywhere near me again, I’m shoving you off it.”

“Noted,” Sokka said, leading the way with a smug bounce in his step. “You’ll warm up to us. We grow on people.”

“Like mold,” she muttered, trailing behind.

Nia walked beside Sokka and his flying bison, still trying to process whatever just happened out in the docks. She looked at the surrounding construction sites and all the people walking through the dirt and cobblestone streets, still unfinished and fresh with mud. 

“So…” Sokka glanced sideways as they weaved through a narrow alley lined with laundry lines and crates. “You don’t look Earth Kingdom.”

“Because I’m not,” Nia muttered. 

“Right,” he said, nodding. “You’ve got that Fire Nation vibe. Like the ‘don’t talk to me or I’ll set you on fire’ energy. Intense.”

She shot him a glare. “Is this your idea of small talk?”

“I am great at small talk,” he replied, unbothered. “So, what brings a Fire Nation girl all the way out here? You running away from something?”

Nia snorted. “That’s a little personal, don’t you think?”

Sokka shrugged. “I’ve been told I’m nosy. But also charming.”

Nia didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes stayed ahead, still scanning the unfinished buildings and half-paved streets. Then, with a tight voice, she muttered, “Let’s just say going back wasn’t an option.”

He gave a low whistle, sensing there was a lot she wasn’t saying. “Fair enough,” he said. “Everyone here’s got something they’re running from, or toward.”

She glanced at him. “And you? What are you doing here?”

Sokka grinned. “Oh, you know. Diplomacy. Inventing. Helping my sister set up schools. Occasionally falling off Appa in front of strangers. Very important Republic business.”

“You know,” he said, “I’ve been helping you all this time, and I still don’t know your name.”

She hesitated for a second, then replied, “Nia.”

“Nia,” he repeated, like he was testing how it felt in his mouth. “Good name. I’m Sokka.”

“I know,” she muttered.

He raised an eyebrow. “You know?”

“You’re in, like, every propaganda poster,” she said. “Big smile, boomerang, weird battle pose. Hard to miss.”

“Guilty,” he said with a mock bow. “Don’t worry, the fame hasn’t gone to my head. Much.”

As they turned a corner, dodging a runaway wheelbarrow and a very angry goose-duck, Sokka glanced over again. “So, if you're not here to set things on fire… what are you here for?”

Nia huffed. “I came to work. Hopefully. I studied diplomacy and international relations.”

Sokka slowed a bit, clearly impressed. “Seriously? That’s awesome. We could use more brains around here. The city’s been a mess trying to get everyone to play nice.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that your job?”

He grinned. “Touché. But I’m more of a ‘wing it and hope for the best’ kind of guy. You probably have actual strategies and, you know, plans.”

“I had plans,” she said quietly. “Then life happened.”

Sokka tilted his head. “Well, hey, the Republic’s a second chance for a lot of people. Might not look like much now, but it’s growing. You could help shape it.”

Nia gave him a long look, surprised by the hint of sincerity. “That sounds like something someone would say in a recruitment poster.”

“Guilty. I helped write one once. It had glitter.”

She actually laughed, sh ort and dry, but real. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re secretly kind of hopeful,” he teased. “Diplomats don’t move to half-built cities unless they want to make things better.”

Nia didn’t reply, but the silence wasn’t cold anymore. Just… thoughtful.

They finally arrived in front of a leaning brick building with mismatched shutters and a wooden door that looked like it had been kicked in more than once. Nia stared at it, unimpressed.

“Home sweet home,” Sokka announced with a dramatic wave of his hand.

She gave him a look. “You sure this isn’t a barn?”

“Eh,” he shrugged. “Barns have charm. This one has... potential.”

Nia took a breath, ready to march up the steps, but Sokka cleared his throat behind her.

“Listen,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I know you just got here and you probably want to be alone and angry at everything for a while—which, fair—but the Republic Council is meeting tomorrow. You should come.”

She blinked at him. “Why would I do that?”

“You said you studied diplomacy. You clearly have opinions. And we need people who aren’t afraid to speak up, especially ones who aren’t thirty-year-old generals or Earth Kingdom bureaucrats with six titles and zero people skills.”

Nia snorted. “Let me guess. You want me to fix everything in one meeting.”

“No,” he said. “Just yell at the right people.”

She eyed him for a beat, then softened. “I'll think about it.”

Sokka grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Take it however you want. I didn’t say yes.”

He winked, walking backward down the street. “See you tomorrow, Ambassador Nia.”

She rolled her eyes as she unlocked the door, but the title lingered longer in her mind than she expected.

The moment Sokka disappeared around the corner, still rambling something about council meetings and the importance of "diversifying voices", Nia finally exhaled. The apartment door clicked shut behind her, sealing the chaos of the Republic outside.

It was small. Cracked tiles, creaky floorboards, and a single, grimy window that let in the heavy gray of late afternoon. But it was hers. For now.

She walked near the bed and dropped her bag onto the floor with a soft thud and slowly opened it. She unpacked in silence, moving as if the small creaks of the floorboards might echo too loud. First came the clothes: plain, folded tightly, smelling faintly of salt and ship wood. Then her notebooks, all worn at the edges from years of study and half-finished essays on diplomacy, unity, and peace, concepts that now felt naive in her mouth.

Then, slower, came the things that mattered, like her father’s journal. The leather was frayed, the pages fragile from being read too many times. She traced the cover with her fingers before placing it gently on the makeshift shelf by the wall.

Next, the photograph. Four people. Her mother’s sharp jaw, her brother’s wide grin, her father’s steady hand on her shoulder. Don't think about them, she told herself. This is your second chance. You don’t get to fall apart here . She turned it face-down almost immediately. Then came her brother’s knife, still polished, still sharp. She wrapped it back in its cloth.

Finally, the necklace. It was simple: a thin red cord with a carved flame-shaped stone. She let it dangle between her fingers for a long moment before slipping it over her neck, the stone warm against her skin, as if it still carried his voice.

She sat on the edge of the low bed, staring at nothing for a moment. A new city, a new life, and still, her ghosts had found room in her suitcase. To evade more memories, Nia quickly stood up and started to put everything in its place. She took her clothes out and hung them in the small, old looking closet next to the bed, shaking them to get any dust out, as if the closet itself wasn’t filled with it. After that, she neatly placed all of her books on the tiny shelf nailed to the wall above the desk. She didn’t have too many of them, so they all fit perfectly in a rigid order.

Once that was finished, Nia placed her old essays and brushes onto the tiny table that was supposed to be her desk, neatly placing them so that nothing was out of order. Finally, it was time to place the other belongings, like the photograph, her acceptance letter, and her brother’s knife somewhere. Her golden eyes carefully scanned the room, looking for something that could work as a safe for now. She spotted a small drawing at the bottom of the closet. It was the perfect size, and bigger than expected. She opened it and dropped the possesions there. After that, she shut it tightly and headed to the small kitchen that was a short distance away from her. The cupboards were obviously empty, but at least weren’t dusty like the other pieces of furniture. Nia’s stomach rumbled as she looked at the small stove, and remembered that she hasn’t eaten anything in hours, which led her to the conclusion that it was a good time to into the market and buy some supplies. 

Nia left the apartment once more, and closed it with its key, making sure it was locked. She stepped out into the streets of the Republic, the weight of the unfamiliar air pressing in on her. The streets were alive: busy, noisy, crowded with vendors hawking their wares, and children darting through the maze of people. It felt like a chaotic mix of her past and an uncertain future, and she couldn't shake the feeling of being just another face in the crowd.

She passed a fruit stall, the bright oranges and reds of the produce vivid against the backdrop of gray stone buildings. Her stomach growled, reminding her of her need to buy something to survive here. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to make this city work. Everything about it was still foreign, still raw.

As she moved down the street, a stall of colorful scarves caught her eye. They reminded her of something… someone. She froze for a moment, the fabric swirling around in a hypnotic dance, and then the memory hit her.

***
She was way younger then, back in the Fire Nation. The market had been crowded that day too, filled with the sounds of people haggling over fruits, textiles, and trinkets. Her father had been standing next to her, his arm around her shoulders, guiding her through the crowds. He’d stopped at a vendor who was selling silk scarves.

"Choose one," her father had said, his voice warm, a little softer than usual.

Nia had picked one of the deepest red scarves, the color of flames in the early morning. Her father had smiled, that rare, genuine smile, and bought it for her.

“A gift for you, little flame,” he’d said, his hand brushing her hair. He paid the vendor and they walked past the rest of the stands. The little golden eyed girl placed the silk scarf around her neck, and smiled back at the man holding her small hand.

***
Nia’s fingers brushed against the stall now, the bright scarves in front of her a stark reminder of the man who had once called her "little flame." She swallowed hard, the sting of that old, unhealed wound creeping up her throat. The red of the scarf reminded her so much of her father, of days that seemed too far gone. She wanted to reach for it, to feel the warmth of a memory that had long since begun to fade, but the weight of it, the memory, was too much. She pulled her hand away, letting it fall to her side.

"Not today," she muttered to herself.

Instead, she walked a little faster, the vibrant colors of the marketplace fading into the background. The noise, the jostling of people, the clamor of voices, it all became distant as her mind returned to the reality at hand. She needed food. She needed something to ground her here, in this place that felt so foreign and cold.

The market was brimming with fresh produce, cured meats, and dried herbs. She picked a few items at random: some rice, bread, a few pieces of fruit, and a few vegetables. She paid the vendor without much thought. The transaction was swift, a reminder of how much she preferred the simplicity of buying what she needed and moving on. The food didn’t make her feel at home, but it was something she could control, something that didn’t stir up any memories of the past. 

Once she’d gathered what she needed, Nia made her way back to her apartment, the weight of the baskets in her hands grounding her. She was still miles away from figuring out what the Republic had in store for her, but for now, she had food, and that was enough.

Back in her sparse apartment, Nia set the food on the small table, the silence of the room settling around her like a heavy blanket. She sat down, picking at the rice and bread, but not really tasting it. Her eyes drifted to the walls, where the flickering light from a nearby candle cast long shadows.

The quiet was too much, the solitude unbearable. Her mind wandered, drifting to a time when she had never known such loneliness.

***

The image came unbidden, a memory from a time when the table had been full, and laughter had filled the air. She saw her father sitting at the head of the table, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the candlelight, his deep voice laughing as he cracked a joke about her brother’s latest antics. The smell of freshly cooked food, hearty and warm, filled the air, and the sound of silverware clinking against plates was the only music they needed. Her mother sat beside him, her eyes bright with amusement, while Nia and her brother exchanged playful glances.

"You two better stop fighting over that last piece of fish," her father said, his voice warm but firm, "Or I’ll take it for myself."

Nia laughed, remembering how her brother had rolled his eyes, but still handed over the fish without protest. The table had been full—of food, of life, of love. The kind of life she hadn’t known in years.

***

That however, was before; before the war; before everything changed. Now, she sat alone, picking at the food in front of her, the silence pressing down on her chest. Her father’s laughter, her mother’s smile, all gone. She could still see them in her mind, as if they had never left, but that only made it worse. She took another bite of food, this time with more force, trying to push away the ache in her chest.

No time for nostalgia; no time for grief. She had a new life now, and she would build it, one step at a time. But the loneliness, no matter how much she fought it, was still there, waiting for her in the quiet moments, the ones she couldn’t fill with anything but memories.

The rice was cold by the time she finished it, but Nia didn’t care. She cleared the table with mechanical precision, washed the dishes in silence, and returned to her desk. Her small stack of papers and notebooks lay there waiting: half-written notes, essays, and theories on postwar diplomacy and cultural integration. She lit another candle and sat down.

Nia ran her fingers across the pages, eyes tracing her own handwriting. It was neat, assertive, filled with underlines and margin notes. The kind of writing born from long nights and passionate debates.

And just like that, another memory returned, warm, dimly lit, filled with quiet voices and rustling papers.

***

She saw herself seated at a library table, ink smudged on her fingers, sleeves rolled up, eyes heavy but alive. Across from her sat Akiko, her closest friend from university, whispering frantic reminders before a big oral exam. A pile of scrolls towered between them, and the window nearby let in the soft glow of moonlight.

“You’re gonna get yourself sick at this rate,” Akiko murmured, tossing a roasted peanut at her. “You haven’t even blinked in five minutes.”

Nia had grinned, rubbing her temples. “If I can get through this paper, I swear I’ll sleep for a week.”

They had stayed like that for hours—two minds deep in thought, driven by dreams of changing the world with their knowledge.

***

Nia’s eyes returned to her present notes. They were still full of ambition, but now the silence was different. No late-night friend. No laughter. Just her, and the echo of what used to be.A soft breeze stirred the edges of her notes, snapping Nia out of the memory. The warmth of that library, of Akiko’s laughter, was gone. Replaced by the quiet hum of the city at night. 

She stood up and walked over to the small window, pushing it open. The air was cooler now, cleaner than earlier. Outside, the Republic shimmered faintly under lanterns and streetlights. Distant voices floated up from alleyways, vendors still selling late-night skewers, children playing, footsteps on cobblestones. The chaos of the day had settled into something steadier, like the heartbeat of a tired but stubborn city.

Nia then realized… It reminded her of those nights back in Shoji. 

***

Nia traveled back when she was just a girl in the distant Fire Nation city, not the capital, but one of the old industrial giants tucked between mountains and flame-lit rivers. It was the kind of place where smoke always hung low in the sky, where factories roared day and night, and universities rose like proud islands in a sea of soot.

She worked at a tea house near the university’s southern gate. The owner, a wiry old woman named Madame Aru, had a sharp tongue and a soft spot for struggling students. “You pour tea like a diplomat,” she’d say, watching Nia steady a tray with one hand and slip through crowded tables without spilling a drop. “Polite, but with enough fire to keep fools in line.”

There was one customer she remembered most: an old Fire Nation captain, always seated in the corner with his cane and weathered cloak. He never said much, just nodded at her and left a silver coin, every time, no matter the bill. One night, when the tavern was empty, he spoke: “Study hard. War is too expensive. We need smart women, not more soldiers.”

She never even learned his name, but the weight of his voice lingered longer than most of her professors.

***

Now, standing by this unfamiliar window in this crumbling new city, she let the memory settle into her chest.

Maybe it wasn’t the Republic she believed in, but in second chances, and this place, flawed as it was, still held space for that.

She sat cross-legged, pages spread like wings across the floor. Reports on post-war diplomacy, firelit notes scribbled in the margins, old texts she'd smuggled from university shelves when the librarians weren’t looking. Her fingers moved with muscle memory: flipping, underlining, annotating. The hours passed unnoticed, the city outside humming in the background like a lullaby she no longer heard.

By the time she glanced at the clock on the wall, it was nearly midnight.

Her eyes were burning, her back ached, but her mind buzzed with that familiar, dangerous focus, the kind that used to carry her through all-nighters during finals week.

She exhaled, slow and deep.

"Break," she muttered aloud, voice hoarse from hours of silence.

She stood up, rolling her shoulders, her bare feet padded softly across the wooden floor. The apartment creaked as if acknowledging her movement, and she wandered to the small kitchenette, pouring herself a glass of water. She stared at it blankly for a moment before drinking. Outside, thunder rumbled softly in the distance, promising rain. 

She leaned on the counter, eyes drifting back toward her papers. “Fifteen minutes,” she whispered. “Then back to it.” But she knew, this night, and this city, weren’t going to let her rest that easily.

A sharp knock rattled Nia’s front door. She froze mid-step, still holding her cup of water. Midnight. Who would be knocking now?

She set the cup down and opened the door cautiously.

An older woman stood there, wrapped in a worn green shawl, hair streaked with gray and eyes sharp as flint. “You’re the new girl in 3B, right?”

Nia nodded slowly. “Yes. Is something wrong?”

“Just thought I’d let you know: if your pipes groan at night, it’s not a ghost. This building’s older than most people think it is. No hot water after 10, either.” She sniffed, eyeing Nia’s face with a critical but not unfriendly expression. “You from the Fire Nation?”

Nia’s jaw tensed, but she gave a small nod.

“Huh,” the woman grunted. “You’re far from home.”

“So are most people here, I guess.”

That earned a short, tired laugh. “Too true.”

There was a pause. Then, with a surprisingly gentle motion, the woman held out a small, wrapped container. “Steamed buns. Not much, but better than whatever dried junk the corner store sells. Just… watch your wallet out there.”

Nia blinked. “Thanks. I- really.”

“Don’t mention it. I live across the hall. If you hear shouting, it’s probably just the couple downstairs… or me.” She turned to leave. “Welcome to the Republic.”

The door closed softly behind her, and for a moment, Nia just stood there, buns in hand, blinking at the empty hallway.

Nia sat back down at the tiny table, unwrapped the warm bun, and took a bite. It was simple: fluffy, savory, a bit peppery, but good, the kind of comfort food that filled more than just her stomach, but halfway through the second bite, the taste snagged something in her memory.

***

She was seven again, sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor, her father kneeling beside the stove. He always made buns on days when work was slow. "Fire-fed and full-bellied," he used to joke. Her mother would roll her eyes, but secretly loved them. Her brother would sneak extras and claim it was part of his training.

They were all laughing. She remembered the warmth of the room, the golden light, the clatter of chopsticks, the way her father's calloused hand ruffled her hair as he passed her a plate.

***

The memory faded like smoke.

Nia blinked hard and set the half-eaten bun aside. It was too much.

She pulled the journal closer, flipping through pages she’d already read, trying to lose herself in old theory notes and diplomatic essays. The focus came easily, too easily, almost like muscle memory, and more pages blurred into hours.

Sometime around one in the morning, her vision started to swim.

She sighed, marked the page, and pushed the book aside.

Sleep.

She undressed slowly, got under the thin sheets, and turned onto her side.

Her eyes didn’t close right away.

***

She stood alone at the docks, the salty breeze tugging at her coat. The sky was still dark, but the edges of the world were beginning to glow with the first signs of dawn. Her suitcase rested beside her, half-open, like it still had time to change its mind.

Footsteps echoed behind her.

“Nia!”

She turned, and there they were—Ren and Akiko, winded from running, still in their pajamas. Akiko’s eyes were red, and Ren clutched a thermos like it was a lifeline.

“You weren’t gonna let us say goodbye?” Ren’s voice cracked.

“I didn’t want to make it harder,” Nia said, her voice low. “I barely held it together packing.”

Akiko rushed forward, grabbing her in a tight hug. “Then don’t go. Stay another week. Hell, just one more day.”

Nia shook her head. “I can’t.”

“But you don’t have to go there. To the Republic, of all places-” Akiko's voice trembled, almost pleading.

“I do,” Nia said softly. “There’s nothing left for me here.”

Ren stepped forward, setting the thermos in her hand. “It’s your favorite. For the trip.”

Nia took it, fingers tightening. “Thanks.”

They stood there in silence for a long moment, the ship’s horn blaring in the distance.

Akiko wiped her eyes. “Just... promise you’ll write.”

“I will.”

Ren looked down. “And come back. Someday.”

Nia didn’t answer.

The ship’s crew began calling passengers aboard.

With one last glance, she picked up her suitcase and walked toward the ramp. She didn’t look back. Not when the wooden steps creaked beneath her feet. Not when the sea swallowed the port.

Only when the wind grew cold and the shore began to fade did she whisper to herself,

“Goodbye.”

Chapter Text

The first rays of dawn crept through the thin curtains, painting soft gold across the walls. Nia stirred under the worn blanket, eyes blinking open to the hush of early morning. For a moment, she lay still, listening to the distant clatter of carts and the low murmur of voices rising with the sun.

She sat up slowly, her dark, auburn hair messy from sleep, the memories of last night lingering like dust stuck in her chest.

Then her eyes landed on the folder beside her notes, papers, and old university transcripts. Just beneath it, tucked between pages, was a council pamphlet Sokka had pressed into her hands.

She hesitated.

Then got up.

The floor was cold under her feet, the kind of cold that made you move quicker. She tied her hair back, dressed in the cleanest outfit she could find, and looked at herself in the cracked mirror by the door.

“You said new beginnings,” she muttered to herself. “So act like it.”

Grabbing her satchel, she stepped outside. The streets were quieter than yesterday—mist clung to the stone, and workers were just starting to set up shop. The scent of fresh bread and coal mingled in the air.

The Republic Council building wasn’t far, but the city still felt unfamiliar, like a language she could speak but didn’t quite understand yet. Still, Nia walked with purpose.

And for the first time since she’d arrived… she felt like maybe she belonged.

As Nia approached the Republic Council building, she found herself slowing her pace. The structure was grand, towering over the lower buildings of the city, with intricate carvings of past leaders, symbols of unity, and murals depicting the efforts to rebuild after the war. The architecture was both old and new, a strange marriage of styles that reflected the city itself: young, ambitious, but still scarred from its origins.

She paused in front of the steps, scanning the area for any signs of the bustle that she’d expected inside. But just outside the grand doors, standing in front of a cart that seemed to be selling something off to the side, was none other than Sokka.

He spotted her immediately. His face lit up with surprise, and he waved his arm with a grin, then jogged over toward her.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to show up!” Sokka called, his tone teasing but genuine. "I didn’t think you’d actually make it."

Nia offered him a small smile, still unsure of her decision to come. "I guess I wanted to see if you were right about this place."

Sokka’s grin widened as he gave her a once-over. “I’m glad you came. Honestly, I thought I might have been giving you a bit of a hard sell. You’re not from around here, huh?”

“No,” she answered simply. “But I’m here now.”

He stepped aside, gesturing toward the grand doors behind him. “Well, you’re in for a treat. They’re still setting up inside, but this place can change a lot of things for people. If you want to have any real influence in the Republic, this is the place to be.”

Nia raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Influence? I’m not here to get involved in politics, Sokka.”

His face softened slightly, realizing she wasn’t exactly jumping into the idea with enthusiasm. "I get it. You’re just trying to get by. But sometimes, just showing up is enough to start something new, and you’ve got a mind that could be a lot more useful than you think."

Nia felt a flash of doubt. Was she really cut out for this? For changing things? Or was she simply looking for an escape from the past?

She exhaled, shifting her bag on her shoulder. “I guess we’ll see.”

“Come on,” Sokka urged, offering a more serious smile this time. “Let’s get inside. You never know, you might surprise yourself.”

As they entered the council building, Nia was immediately hit with the contrast between the cold stone exterior and the warmth inside. The large halls were lined with banners representing the united nations, flags of the Fire Nation, Earth Kingdom, Water Tribes, and Air Nomads, all hanging side by side. The atmosphere buzzed with voices and the shuffling of papers, a mix of excitement and tension as various officials and advisors discussed the current state of the Republic.

Sokka led her through a few corridors, passing a few rooms where people hurriedly exchanged words. Eventually, they reached a large meeting room, where a few people were already gathered.

Nia’s eyes scanned the room, taking in the sight of those present. There was a man who looked older than Sokka, with a serious expression and brown hair tied neatly back, dressed in formal Water tribe attire. A woman with long, dark hair tied in a loose braid, wearing water tribe robes, looked over her shoulder with a calm smile as they entered. She caught Sokka’s gaze, offering a small nod in acknowledgment.

"Hey, dad, hey Katara," Sokka greeted as he waved over to her. "Aang’s around here too?"

Katara stood up and smiled warmly, her eyes lighting up when she saw Nia. “You must be Nia,” she said, her voice gentle but full of warmth. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Katara.”

Nia offered a small smile, unsure how to respond. “Nice to meet you.”

Katara studied her for a moment, eyes filled with something that almost felt like quiet understanding. “You’re here to see what this council is about, right?” she asked. “I’m sure you’ll be impressed.”

Nia nodded, though she didn’t quite share the optimism. “We’ll see.”

At that moment, Nia noticed Aang standing in the back of the room, near a window. He was chatting with a few people, but his calm eyes caught hers, and he waved enthusiastically when he saw her.

“Hi, Nia!” Aang greeted, stepping forward to meet her, a big smile plastered on his face. “It’s great to finally meet you in person. Sokka talked about you a lot.”

Nia blinked, surprised by the sudden attention. “He did?”

Aang chuckled lightly. “Yeah. He says you’ve got a sharp mind. I’m Aang, by the way.”

She raised an eyebrow, a bit taken aback. “Sharp mind, huh?”

Sokka grinned and shrugged. “I may have mentioned it once or twice, but seriously, Nia, you could probably help us out here.”

Katara turned to Aang, then back to Nia. “We could use all the help we can get around here. Especially someone with experience in diplomacy.”

Nia felt the pressure of their words, but she kept her expression neutral. “I’m just here to observe for now.”

The older man standing nearby, who had been quietly observing their exchange, spoke up. “We’ll need more than observers, Miss Nia,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “This Republic is still in its early days, and while there is plenty of potential, it won’t get far if people don’t step up and contribute. The name is Hakoda, chief of the Southern Water Tribe”

His presence had a gravitas to it, and Nia couldn’t help but notice the calm authority in his voice. She turned to look at him more closely. The man was older, his sharp features softened by age, though his eyes still carried a keen, observant glint. She shook his hand and nodded.

“Perhaps we should let her decide what role she’ll take,” Katara interjected smoothly, sensing Nia’s unease. “There’s no need to pressure anyone right away.”

Sokka glanced at Nia with a grin. “See? They’re good people. No pressure.”

Nia nodded, though she still felt a bit uncertain. She had come to observe, but the more they spoke, the more she felt a strange pull toward this place. It was hard to ignore the possibility of becoming part of something larger than herself, even if that meant taking on responsibilities she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

The large doors swung open for the second time. A group of older people wearing marine blue and silver robes walked into the meeting room, greeting the others. They sat around the table and settled down. One man, sitting in the corner near a set of documents, was dressed in those marine robes that didn’t match any specific nation but still exuded an air of calm wisdom. His dark eyes twinkled with the subtle knowledge of someone who had seen more of the world than most, and his posture was relaxed but commanding. Beside him stood a man with tan skin, his silver hair scattered everywhere, and dressed in a simple yet elegant robe with the same intricate embroidery that marked him as someone of importance.

Nia’s gaze lingered on them for a moment, curious. There was something distinctly unfamiliar about them, almost as if they didn’t belong here, or perhaps, as though they belonged everywhere.

Sokka leaned in toward her, noticing her gaze. “Ah, those two are from the White Lotus,” he whispered. “They’ve got a knack for showing up where things get interesting.”

Nia raised an eyebrow, still unsure. “The White Lotus?”

Sokka nodded, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “They’re an ancient order. Not a lot of people know what they do, but they’ve been around since before the Fire Nation war. They keep the balance between the nations, making sure things don’t tip over into chaos.”

Before Nia could respond, the man with the dark eyes stood, his movements deliberate but graceful, and offered a welcoming smile. “Ah, Sokka, always a pleasure. And you must be Nia,” he said, his voice smooth and calm, like the sound of a distant river.

Nia nodded slowly, intrigued. “Yes, that’s me.”

The man’s gaze softened slightly as he studied her, a flicker of recognition or perhaps curiosity passing between them. “I’m Iroh,” he said, offering a slight bow. “And this is my colleague, Master Piandao.” The man, who wore his black hair in a tight bun, nodded at Nia, his eyes haunting, but full of quiet strength.

Master Piandao gave Nia a small, respectful nod. “It is good to see fresh faces here,” he remarked, his voice surprisingly warm despite the intimidating appearance. “The Republic is still finding its way, but people like you, who have studied diplomacy, will be valuable in the coming years.”

Sokka grinned, nudging Nia slightly. “See? Told you they’re important. I think Iroh has a lot of good advice if you’re up for it.”

Nia, still absorbing the situation, found herself watching Iroh carefully. There was a depth to his presence, a calmness that contrasted sharply with the energy of the room. He wasn’t just another politician or advisor. There was something more to him, something wise and ancient, as though he held the knowledge of centuries in his gaze.

Iroh smiled again, sensing her hesitation. “Don’t worry, Nia. You’ll find your place here, just as we all are. The Republic is young, and it needs people who are willing to build it, piece by piece.”

Nia nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. There was no telling where this journey might take her, but with people like Iroh and Piandao around, it was hard to deny the possibility that the Republic could still grow into something worth believing in.

In just a few minutes, the room quickly filled with discussion as everyone took their seats. Katara, Aang, and the members of the White Lotus spoke briefly, discussing the ongoing tensions between the nations and the rebuilding efforts still underway. The atmosphere was tense but productive, each person offering their perspectives on how to balance peace and prosperity in the Republic.

Nia stood slightly off to the side, absorbing the information and silently evaluating the different strategies being discussed. As the debate wore on, she felt a growing unease. She had studied diplomacy for years, but being here, surrounded by so many influential figures, made her question whether her knowledge was enough.

Finally, a pause in the conversation. Sokka, who had been sitting at the table, turned to Nia with a grin. “What do you think, Nia? You’re the expert.”

All eyes turned to her. For a moment, Nia hesitated, but then she stood up straight. The weight of the situation made her realize that this wasn’t just a meeting about theoretical ideals; this was a chance to make an actual impact.

“Well,” she began, her voice steady but firm, “If we continue to base our strategies on old ways of thinking—thinking rooted in the division of nations—we’re only setting ourselves up for failure. The Republic was founded on the idea of unity, but it’s becoming clear that unity isn't just about having diverse people in one place. It's about actively fostering collaboration and trust.”

She paused, catching their attention. “We need to ensure that everyone, regardless of their nation, feels like they have a stake in this city. That means giving people real power, not just symbolic positions. We should be focusing on economic cooperation, opening up opportunities for trade, education, and shared governance.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment, and the room fell quiet. Then, to Nia’s surprise, a few of the council members exchanged impressed looks. Sokka’s grin widened as he looked at her, clearly proud of the impact she’d just made.

“You’re absolutely right, Nia,” Iroh said, his calm voice cutting through the silence. “True unity cannot be forced. It must be nurtured, and it requires respect for the cultures and traditions of everyone involved.”

Katara nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a perspective we need. Not just the political angle, but the human angle.”

Master Piandao smiled warmly. “Your insight is refreshing, Nia. It’s good to have someone like you here, someone who sees beyond the politics.”

Nia was stunned. For a moment, she felt out of place, as though she had been thrust into something much larger than herself. But the compliments, though unexpected, gave her a glimmer of hope. Maybe she could make a difference here after all.

The conversation shifted as another council member spoke up, clearing his throat. “Speaking of leadership… we’ve been waiting for Fire Lord Zuko to arrive. He’s supposed to give his input on the trade agreements.”

The mention of Zuko’s name caught Nia’s attention, and she couldn’t help but feel a chill run down her spine. Fire Lord Zuko… the very name seemed to carry a weight she hadn’t been prepared for. She had heard whispers of him before, of course, but never imagined she’d be in a room where his presence loomed so strongly.

Sokka noticed the shift in Nia’s expression and leaned over to her, lowering his voice. “Don’t worry, he’s not as intimidating as he sounds. He’s actually pretty decent when you get to know him.”

Nia didn’t reply immediately. The thought of the Fire Lord in the same room, so close, unsettled her. She had never expected to come face to face with someone so intricately tied to the Fire Nation’s legacy. Zuko was a symbol of the Fire Nation’s transformation, but for Nia, he also represented everything she had been running from.

“Zuko’s input will be useful for the new trade agreements,” Master Piandao spoke up. “We need to quickly decide the policies the Republic will adopt so that its economy can prosper. We are months behind.”

Nia spoke up again. "We are months behind because we are treating trade like reparations. If we tax the Earth Kingdom heavily on Fire Nation imports to 'fund the Republic,' it doesn't look like cooperation. It looks like tribute. It looks like the colonies all over again. If you want trust, you need to lower the tariffs on raw materials, specifically for the construction sectors. You help them build, they help you eat."

The room went silent. It was a bold, almost aggressive take, but the logic was undeniable.

Before anyone could respond, the heavy double doors at the far end of the hall groaned open. The sound wasn't the fanfare of trumpets or a herald announcing a arrival—just the heavy thud of wood and the shuffle of boots.

Two Fire Nation guards stepped in first, their armor polished but their postures less rigid than in the old days. Between them walked a young man who looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.

Fire Lord Zuko.

He was taller than Nia remembered from the gala all those years ago, his shoulders broader but weighed down by the heavy, ceremonial crimson robes that seemed too big for him. His topknot was slightly askew, and he held a stack of scrolls in one hand, looking more like a stressed university student than the ruler of the most powerful nation in the world.

"Sorry I'm late," Zuko said, his voice raspy. He walked toward the head of the table, not looking at anyone specifically, his eyes glued to a scroll he was unrolling. "The delegation from the Northern Air Temple was... enthusiastic. I missed the beginning of the discussion on tariffs."

He dropped the scrolls onto the table with a sigh and finally looked up.

"But I heard the last part from the hallway. About the tribute."

Zuko’s gaze swept the room, landing on Sokka, then Katara, before drifting to the stranger standing near the window.

He stopped.

Nia felt her breath hitch in her throat, though she kept her face like stone. The scar on his face was more jagged in person, a violent map of his history, but it was his good eye, and the golden one, that held her.

Zuko blinked. He narrowed his eyes slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. For a second, the tired politician vanished, and he was just a man looking at a ghost.

"You," he murmured, almost to himself.

"Fire Lord Zuko," Iroh interrupted gently, though his eyes were twinkling with something sharp. "This is Nia. She has been offering us some rather... illuminating perspectives on our diplomatic strategy."

Zuko didn't break eye contact. The gold of his eyes seemed to flare as he processed the sight of her, the wavy auburn hair, the posture of a noble, and those eyes that mirrored his own.

"Nia," Zuko repeated. He didn't say 'I know you.' He didn't say 'I saw you at a party fifteen years ago.' But the recognition was there, heavy and silent in the air between them.

Nia straightened her spine, forcing herself to treat him like any other official, despite the way her heart hammered against her ribs. She bowed, stiff and formal.

"Lord Zuko," she said, her voice steady. "I was just explaining why your current economic plan is going to fail."

Sokka let out a low whistle. "And... we're off."

Zuko stared at her for a beat longer, and then, to the surprise of everyone in the room, the corner of his mouth twitched upward. It wasn't a smile, not quite, but the exhaustion in his face seemed to crack, letting a bit of light through.

"I'm listening," Zuko said, pulling out a chair. "Tell me why I'm wrong."

Nia didn't flinch. She gestured to the map of the trade routes spread across the table.

"You are prioritizing the export of Fire Nation luxury goods, such as silks, spices, metallurgy, to generate quick revenue for reparations. It looks good on paper. It looks like the Fire Nation is paying its debts."

She looked up, locking eyes with him.

"But you are ignoring the internal collapse of your own industrial sectors. I studied the reports from Shoji. The factories that were churning out tanks are now sitting empty because you halted military production, which was the right moral choice, but a terrible economic one. You have thousands of veterans and factory workers with no jobs, no food, and a lot of anger. If you tax the Earth Kingdom imports, specifically the raw ore they need to retool those factories for civilian use, you aren't just hurting the Earth Kingdom. You are starving your own people."

Nia paused, her voice lowering, losing the diplomat's polish and gaining a sharper edge.

"And hungry soldiers don't care about your 'Era of Peace,' Fire Lord. They care that they were used up and thrown away. If you don't give them a way to work, they will find a way to fight. And you will have a civil war before you even finish building this city."

The room was dead silent. Even the White Lotus members seemed to have stopped breathing.

Zuko stared at her. His face was unreadable, his gold eyes intense. He looked down at his hands, hands that had never known the calluses of factory work, but knew the weight of fire.

"Civil war," Zuko repeated softly. He sounded less like a king and more like a man who had been fearing exactly that.

"The colonies-" Zuko started, then corrected himself. "The Republic... needs to be a symbol. If we rely on the Fire Nation industry, people will say we are just conquering them economically instead of militarily."

"People will say whatever they want," Nia shot back. "Let them talk. But let them eat first. Unless your plan is to build a utopia on a foundation of resentment."

Sokka cleared his throat loudly, breaking the tension. "Okay! So... less taxes, more... eating. I like the eating part. Can we put that in the minutes?"

Zuko didn't laugh. He slowly leaned back, the tension in his shoulders visible. He looked at Iroh.

"Uncle?"

Iroh took a slow sip of his tea, his expression grave but pleased. "She speaks with the heat of a dragon, nephew. But fire is also light. She has illuminated a corner of the room we were trying to ignore."

Zuko looked back at Nia. The hostility was gone, replaced by a begrudging respect, and something else, curiosity.

"You studied in Shoji?" Zuko asked.

"Yes."

"And before that?"

Nia froze. The image of the rehab center, the barred windows, and the screaming soldiers flashed in her mind. She tightened her grip on her satchel.

"Before that," she lied smoothly, "I was just a citizen watching the world burn."

Zuko seemed to sense the wall she put up. He nodded once, accepting the boundary.

"Ambassador Nia," Zuko said, testing the title. "If you are finished telling me how I'm ruining my nation... would you join us for the rest of the session? We could use someone who isn't afraid of... smoke."

Nia hesitated. Her instinct was to run. To go back to her tiny apartment and hide. But she looked at the map, at the mess of a city outside, and at the scarred boy-king who was trying, desperately, to hold it all together.

"I have time," she said. “Bring it on.”

Chapter Text

The silence in the council room stretched thin, like a wire pulled to its breaking point.

Nia stood by the map, the charcoal stick heavy in her hand, and locks of dark auburn hair spilling over the sides of her face. She had just told the Fire Lord that his economic policy, the one he had likely spent months agonizing over, was a disaster.

A Fire Nation General, an older man with a stiff, white beard and stiffer collar named General Shinu, slammed his hand onto the table.

“This is preposterous!” Shinu barked, his face turning a shade of plum. “Who is this girl? She walks in here, a nobody from the Fire Nation, and dares to lecture the Fire Lord on statecraft? Fire Lord Zuko, surely you are not going to listen to this… civilian insolence.”

Nia felt a cold spike of fear in her gut. This was exactly why she had stayed hidden for so long. Men like Shinu, men who loved hierarchy and protocol, were dangerous. She tightened her grip on her satchel, half-expecting to be escorted out by the guards.

Zuko didn’t look at the General. He didn’t look at Nia. He was staring at the map, his golden eyes tracing the black lines she had drawn over his trade routes. “Sit down, General,” Zuko said. His voice was quiet, but it carried the rasp of command.

“My Lord, she is disrespecting the Crown-”

“I said sit down,” Zuko snapped, his voice rising just enough to cut the air. Sparks popped visibly off his knuckles.

General Shinu closed his mouth with an audible click and sat down, though he glared daggers at Nia.

Zuko finally looked up at her. He didn't look angry. He looked... tired. And skeptical. “You say my plan will cause inflation,” Zuko said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “But the Earth Kingdom is demanding reparations NOW, not in five years. If I don't send gold, the Earth King views it as an insult. He views it as the Fire Nation refusing to pay for its crimes.”

He gestured to the open window, where the sounds of the bustling city drifted in. “I have diplomats breathing down my neck every hour of the day. They want a gesture. A tangible payment. You’re telling me to send them… what? Girders? Concrete?”

“Yes,” Nia answered, her voice steadying. She realized Zuko wasn't dismissing her; he was testing her. He needed ammunition to get back at those diplomats. “Let’s look at the psychology of it, Fire Lord.” Nia walked around the table, gaining confidence. “If you send a chest of gold to a village in Omashu that was burned down, what happens? The local magistrate takes a cut. The tax collector takes a cut. Maybe a few coins trickle down to the farmers. They buy food for a week. Then the gold is gone, they are still hungry, and they still hate you.”

Sokka nodded vigorously, his mouth full of dried lychee. “She’s got a point. Gold is slippery. I once lost a whole coin purse in a swamp. Long story.”
Nia ignored him, keeping her eyes on Zuko.

“But,” she continued, “If you send a battalion of Fire Nation engineers, unarmed, out of uniform, to negotiate with the earthbenders, and they rebuild the irrigation canals that your tanks destroyed? That is permanent.”

She leaned her hands on the table, leaning into his space. “When the water flows again, and the crops grow, they won’t thank the gold. They will look at the canal and know who built it. You aren’t just paying a debt, Zuko. You are changing the memory of the war.”

Zuko stared at her. The skepticism in his eyes was warring with hope. “My engineers are… proud,” Zuko muttered, rubbing his temples. “Getting them to dig ditches for the Earth Kingdom without their armor? They’ll see it as a punishment.”

“Then don't call it punishment,” Nia countered instantly. “Call it a Special Operation. Give them a new uniform, give them a medal for ‘Reconstruction Valor’, and let them negotiate with the earthbenders. Soldiers love medals. Feed their ego, and they’ll build whatever you want.”

Aang, who had been listening quietly from his perch on a giant air-cushion, piped up. “It’s like the Air Nomads used to say! You can’t smooth water by hitting it with a rock. You have to flow with it. Helping them build sounds a lot more like flowing than throwing money at them.”

Zuko looked at Aang, then back at Nia.

“General Shinu,” Zuko said, not turning his head. “How much surplus steel do we have in the harbor shipyards?”

The General sputtered. “My Lord? That steel is reserved for the new battle-cruisers-”

“We aren’t building battle-cruisers,” Zuko cut him off sharply. “We are at peace. How much steel?”

“...Thousands of tons, My Lord. Stripped from the old invasion fleet.”

Zuko stood up. He walked over to the map, standing next to Nia.

He was taller than she expected. Up close, the myth of the Fire Lord dissolved, and she saw the reality: he was just a young man, barely twenty, wearing robes that were too heavy for his shoulders. He smelled of smoke and old parchment.

He reached out, his finger tracing the line she had drawn near Ba Sing Se. “If we do this,” Zuko murmured, more to himself than her. “If we send the steel… the Earth King might reject it. He might think we’re trying to build military outposts.”

“He might,” Nia conceded. “That is why you send the Avatar with the first shipment.” She gestured to Aang. “Who is going to shoot at a convoy led by the Avatar?”

Aang beamed. “I’m great at being a human shield! I mean, a diplomatic escort!”

Zuko let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for three years. The tension in his shoulders dropped an inch.

“Infrastructure,” Zuko repeated. He looked at Nia, really looked at her, for the first time. He saw the frayed edges of her sleeves, the ink stains on her fingers, the way she stood with a rigid, practiced posture that screamed survival.

“You didn’t learn this in a textbook,” Zuko said quietly.

Nia froze. “I studied international relations and economics at Shoji, as I said.”

“Economics, yes, but you know how soldiers think, and you know how hungry people think.” Zuko’s golden eyes narrowed slightly, not with suspicion, but with recognition. “You’ve seen the Fire Nation up close, recently.”

Nia didn’t answer. She couldn't tell him she had spent a whole year living in a tenement building with refugees, rationing rice and listening to veterans scream in their sleep while she was studying in university.

“I observe,” Nia said simply. “It is the job of a diplomat to observe.”

“We have plenty of diplomats,” Zuko said, glancing disdainfully at General Shinu. “We have very few observers.”

He turned back to the table. “Sokka. Draft the proposal. Operation… what did you call it?”

“Operation Big Bridge!” Sokka cheered. “Or maybe ‘The Zuko-struction Project’? No? Okay, Big Bridge it is.”

“We send the steel,” Zuko decided, his voice firm. “We re-task the engineers, and General Shinu?”

“Yes, Fire Lord?” The General looked like he had swallowed a lemon. “Get me the inventory of every decommissioned tank in the colonies. We’re melting them down.”

“But—My Lord—our defenses—”

“If we do this right, General, we won’t need defenses, because our neighbors won’t want to kill us.” Zuko turned his back on the General, effectively dismissing him.

He looked back at Nia. The room felt different now. The air was charged with a new energy: movement. For the first time all day, they weren't stuck.

“You said you studied in Shoji,” Zuko said again.

“Yes.”

“And where are you staying in the city?”

Nia hesitated. She thought of her tiny, drafty apartment with the leaking roof a few blocks away from the Council building, the one where the wind whistled through the walls. “I have... accommodations.”

Zuko narrowed his eyes. He had an uncanny ability to spot a lie, or at least an omission.

“The Council needs a liaison for this project,” Zuko said abruptly. “Someone who understands both the economics and the... logistics, someone who isn't afraid to tell me when I'm being an idiot.”

Nia felt her heart rate pick up. “I’m sure you have many advisors, Fire Lord.”

“I have many ‘Yes-Men’,” Zuko corrected, tilting his head toward the sulking General Shinu. “I don't need more people telling me I'm great while the world burns down around me. I need someone who knows how to use charcoal to cross out my bad ideas.”

He gestured to the messy map.

“Work with us,” Zuko said. It wasn't a command, it was a request. “Just for this project. Help us build the roads.”

Nia looked at him. She looked at the scar that marked him as a survivor, and the gold eyes that were pleading with her to help him fix the mess his family made.

She knew she should say no; she knew getting involved with the Fire Lord was dangerous. It brought her too close to the flame, it brought her too close to the past she had run from.
But then she remembered the girl in the mirror this morning. New beginnings.

“I’ll need access to the Republic Archives,” Nia said, her voice steady, bargaining her terms. “And full autonomy on the drafting committee, I don’t want generals looking over my shoulder.”
Zuko’s lips curled upward, an almost-smile. “Done. Anything else?”

“And decent tea,” she added, gesturing to the cold, sad pot on the table. “This stuff is a crime against humanity.”

Zuko’s face cracked into a small, genuine smirk. The first real expression she had seen on him all day.

“I know a guy,” Zuko said, glancing at Iroh, who raised his teacup in a silent toast. “I think we can manage the tea.”

***

The Republic City Archives were less of a library and more of a cavernous warehouse where paperwork went to die.

Located in the basement of the Council building, the air smelled of dry rot, old parchment, and the lingering scent of mildew. There were rows of towering wooden shelves stretched into the darkness, stuffed with scrolls, maps, and binders from all four nations.

“Behold!” Sokka announced, throwing his arms wide as he kicked the heavy door open. “The Hall of infinite Boredom! Also known as ‘Where Aang hides when he doesn't want to sign autographs.’”
Nia stepped inside, clutching her satchel. To most people, this room looked like a fire hazard. To her, it looked like heaven.

“It’s… extensive,” Nia said, her eyes scanning the chaotic piles of scrolls.

“It’s a mess,” Sokka corrected, grabbing a lantern from a hook and lighting it. “The Earth Kingdom filing system is based on ‘Heavy things go on the bottom,’ and the Fire Nation system is based on ‘Burn it if it’s sad.’ Merging them has been a nightmare!”

He led the way down a narrow aisle, the lantern swinging and casting long, dancing shadows.

“So,” Sokka started, his tone shifting from Tour Guide to Casual Interrogator instantly. “Shoji, huh? That’s a long way from the Fire Nation Capital. Nice beaches? Or is it mostly just... coal dust?”

Nia kept her face neutral, running her fingers along the spines of the binders. “Mostly ash. It’s an industrial hub. Not exactly a vacation spot.”

“Right, right. Ash. Classic.” Sokka stopped at a large table covered in maps and dropped the lantern with a clatter. He leaned against a bookshelf, crossing his arms. “You know, it’s funny. You have a very specific accent for someone who grew up in a factory town.”

Nia didn’t flinch. She picked up a scroll, unrolling it to hide her face slightly. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Sokka continued, watching her like a hawk. “You pronounce your ‘R’s like the High Sages… very crisp, very fancy. Most people from the colonies have a bit of a... drawl, like, ‘Hey, pass the hot-squat.’ You sound like, ‘Please pass the ceremonial flame, my good sir.’”

Nia forced a dry chuckle, keeping her eyes on the text. “I listened to my professors at Shoji extensively. Most of them were from the Capital. Maybe I caught the accent.”

It was a good lie, plausible, sad enough to stop questions.

Sokka hummed, tapping his chin. “Professors. Makes sense. I learned to speak Water Tribe sarcasm from a penguin, so I get it.”

He walked over to the table and started unrolling a massive map of the Earth Kingdom coast.

“So, Miss ‘Top of the Class’,” Sokka said, grabbing a handful of flagged pins. “Zuko gave us the green light for the steel convoy. But we need a route that avoids the bandit clans in the Grey Pass. Do you have any bright ideas, or are you just here for the free tea?”

Nia walked over to the map. She studied the terrain. The Grey Pass was a choke point; everyone knew that. But she remembered a report she had read in her father’s study years ago, a geological survey. “Here,” Nia said, pointing to a narrow ridge line north of the pass. “The Serpent’s Spine.”

Sokka squinted. “That’s a goat track. We can’t get tanks up there.”

“Not tanks” Nia corrected. “Sleds. If we wait for the winter frost next month, the mud hardens. You can slide the heavy steel beams down the ridge using gravity and earthbending brakes. It bypasses the bandits completely. They’ll be waiting in the valley while the convoy glides right over their heads.”

Sokka stared at the map. He tilted his head. He traced the line with his finger.

Then he looked at Nia with pure, unadulterated delight.

“Gravity sleds,” Sokka whispered reverently. “That is... that is beautiful. Are you sure you aren’t related to me? Because this level of genius usually runs in my family.”

Nia smiled, a real one this time. “I just like physics, Sokka. It’s predictable… unlike people.”

“Amen to that.” Sokka slammed a pin into the map. “Okay, Serpent’s Spine it is. I’ll have to talk Toph into building the sleds. She hates wood, but I’ll bribe her with fancy jerky.”

They worked in silence for a while, the only sound the scratching of quills and the rustling of paper. It was a comfortable silence. Nia felt a strange tension leave her shoulders. She wasn't used to working with someone who could keep up with her. Usually, she had to slow down, to explain, to soften her intelligence so she didn't threaten the men in charge.

Sokka didn't seem threatened. He seemed thrilled to have a sparring partner.

“Question,” Sokka said suddenly, not looking up from his notes.

Nia stiffened. “Yes?”

“Why the Fire Nation?”

“Excuse me?”

Sokka spun his quill between his fingers. “You’re smart, clearly. You could have gone to Ba Sing Se University. You could have gone to the Northern Water Tribe… okay, maybe not there, it’s freezing, but why go back to work for the Fire Nation government? Zuko is cool, obviously, but... the Fire Nation is kind of a mess right now. Why jump into a burning building?”

Nia paused. She looked at the lantern light flickering on the walls.

Why indeed? Why hadn't she just disappeared into the Earth Kingdom peasantry? Why did she walk back toward the dragon’s mouth?

“Because it’s my mess,” Nia said softly.

Sokka stopped spinning his quill. He looked at her.

“I ran away from it once,” Nia admitted, surprised by her own honesty. “I thought if I ignored it, the smoke wouldn't reach me. But... you can’t outrun your own people, Sokka, even if they’re wrong, especially if they’re wrong.”

She looked down at the map, at the red ink marking the Fire Nation.

“If I don't help fix it,” she whispered, “Then I have no right to complain about the ashes.”

Sokka studied her for a long moment. His sapphire eyes, usually crinkled with humor, were sharp and surprisingly deep. He saw something in her, not the specific secret of her bloodline, but the weight of it. He recognized the look of someone who had taken responsibility for a burden they didn't create.

He had that same look when he talked about his dad.

“Well,” Sokka said, breaking the tension with a grin. “Lucky for us, you’re good at fixing things, and lucky for you, I am excellent at complaining. We’ll make a great team.”

He grabbed a stamp and slammed it down on the proposal with a definitive THUD.

“APPROVED,” Sokka declared. “By order of the Committee of Sleds and Sarcasm.”

Nia laughed. It was a small sound, rusty from disuse, but it was there. “Is that an official committee?”

“It is now,” Sokka winked. “Welcome to the club. Meetings are on Tuesdays. Bring snacks.”

As they packed up the scrolls, Nia felt a strange warmth in her chest. Sokka asked too many questions. He was nosy. He noticed her accent. He was dangerous to her secret.

But as he held the door open for her, babbling about the merits of seal-jerky versus fruit tarts, Nia realized something terrifying.

She had made a friend.

Chapter Text

The knife was too heavy.

That was the first thing six-year-old Nia noticed. It wasn't a toy, and it wasn't wood. It was cold, folded steel, with a handle wrapped in rough leather that scratched her small, soft palm.

"Don't hold it like a spoon, Nia," a voice corrected gently. "You aren't trying to feed the target. You're trying to kill it."

Nia looked up. Her brother, Seraim, towered over her. He was sixteen, already wearing the cadet armor of the Fire Academy. To Nia, he looked like a god. He was everything House Tang wanted: tall, strong, a prodigy, and utterly fearless.

However, when he looked at her, his face wasn't hard like Mother’s or cruel like Grandmother’s. It was just… serious.

"My hand is too small," Nia complained, her lower lip trembling. The training courtyard was hot, the cicadas buzzing loudly in the cherry trees.

Seraim knelt down in the dust. He didn't take the knife away. Instead, he wrapped his large, callused hand over her tiny fingers, adjusting her grip.

"Your hand is small," Seraim agreed. "That means you can't rely on muscle. If you try to throw it with your arm, you'll miss."

He tapped her wrist, then her elbow, then her shoulder.

"It has to be a snap," he whispered. "Like a spark. You don't push the knife. You let it fly."

He stood up and pointed at the straw dummy ten paces away. A painted red circle marked the heart.

"Try again."

Nia took a breath. She mimicked his stance, feet apart, knees bent. She stared at the red circle. She imagined the knife was a bird she had to set free.

She threw it.

The blade tumbled awkwardly through the air. It didn't hit the target point-first. The handle smacked against the straw with a dull thud, and the knife fell uselessly into the dirt.

Nia flinched. She waited for the scolding. She waited for Grandmother Keres to yell from the porch.

But Seraim just walked over, picked up the knife, and walked back. He wiped the dust off the blade and handed it back to her.

"Again," he said.

"I can't," Nia whispered, tears stinging her eyes. "I'm not strong like you, Seraim."

Seraim sighed. He knelt down again, looking her dead in the eye.

"Listen to me, Nia," he said, his voice dropping low so the servants wouldn't hear. "The world is not going to care that you are small. The Earth Kingdom soldiers won't care. The Agni Kai duels won't care."

He pressed the hilt of the knife into her palm, closing her fingers around it tight.

"You don't have to be strong," Seraim told her fiercely. "You just have to be fast. And you have to be right. If you are precise, it doesn't matter how big the enemy is. They all bleed the same."

He turned her shoulders toward the target.

"You are a Tang," he commanded. "We do not miss. Again."

Nia sniffled. She wiped her nose on her sleeve. She looked at the red circle.

Be fast. Be right.

She threw it.

This time, her wrist snapped. The knife didn't tumble. It spun in a tight, silver blur.

THWACK.

It buried itself deep in the straw, just an inch to the left of the red circle.

Nia gasped. She looked at her hand, then at the target. She looked up at Seraim, a wide, triumphant smile breaking across her face.

Seraim smiled, not as widely as she did, but he nodded in approval. 

"Good," he said. "Now do it a hundred more times."

***

Nia woke up with her hand clenched into a fist.

For a second, she could still feel the rough leather of the hilt against her palm. She could smell the cherry blossoms and the ozone of the training yard.

She blinked, staring at the cracked ceiling of her apartment. Her hand wasn't holding a knife. It was gripping the bedsheet so hard her knuckles were white.

Slowly, deliberately, Nia forced her fingers to uncurl. One by one.

Seraim.

She hadn't thought about him in months. The memory of his voice, “You don't have to be strong, you just have to be right”, echoed in the silent room.

He had tried to teach her how to survive. He had tried to harden her into a weapon before the world could break her.

It didn't work, Nia thought bitterly, rolling out of bed. Or maybe it worked too well.

She walked to the kitchen, her bare feet cold on the floor. She picked up a knife to slice an apple for breakfast.

Without thinking, she adjusted her grip. Not holding it like a kitchen utensil, but holding it by the blade, balanced for a throw.

Nia stared at the knife in her hand.

Seraim was gone. The war was over. She was supposed to be a diplomat now, building bridges with Zuko and Sokka. She was supposed to be soft.

But the muscle memory was still there. Waiting.

She sighed, flipping the knife back to a normal grip, and sliced the apple.

"A hundred more times," she whispered to the empty kitchen.

Even if Seraim died 9 years ago, Nia still remembered everything about him. He had her dad’s jet black hair, and almost all of his facial features, except the eyes, which were sage green like her mother’s, and the straight hair. His skin was way lighter than her dad’s, and looked like some spicy tea with milk. He was also dad’s height, and eventually outgrew him before he died. Seraim also loved animals. He would rescue them all the time, despite mother’s disapproval and grandmother’s slight allergies. He thought that all lives were valuable, yet he thought his own was not, for he decided to sacrifice himself in a pointless, horrible war. 

Nia closed her eyes, and suddenly she was six years old again, sneaking into Seraim’s room.

She found him kneeling by his bed, hiding something in a small box. "Is it a bomb?" Nia had whispered, wide-eyed. Seraim had jumped, then smiled, putting a finger to his lips. "No. It's a prisoner of war." He opened the box. Inside was a baby messenger hawk with a broken wing, wrapped in one of Seraim’s best silk shirts. "Mother will kill you," Nia gasped. "Mother won't find out," Seraim whispered, feeding the bird a piece of dried meat. "Grandmother says it's weak. She says we should wring its neck, but... look at him, Nia. He wants to fly. Who are we to say he can't?"

Nia opened her eyes in the empty kitchen.

Seraim would save anything. He saved hawks, turtle-ducks, and even a spider-wasp once. He believed that every life had value. He believed that everything deserved a chance to fly.

Everything except himself.

He had taken those gentle hands, the hands that splinted broken wings, and he had picked up a spear. He had marched to the front lines of a siege he didn't fully believe in. He had thrown himself into the grinder of the Hundred Year War because duty demanded it, because House Tang demanded it.

"You idiot," Nia whispered, her voice thick with old grief. "You saved the bird. Why couldn't you save yourself?"

She picked up the knife again. The reflection in the steel was just her own face, amber eyes, not green.

Seraim was gone, and the war was over. The "pointless, horrible war" had taken the best of them and left the rest to pick up the pieces.

Nia stood up. She finished the apple. She had work to do. She had a Council meeting. She had a world to fix, because if Seraim wasn't here to save the broken things, she would have to do it for him. She dressed quickly, and pulled her hair back tight, not because she wanted to look like her grandmother or her mother, but because she needed discipline today. The ghost of Seraim was still hovering over her shoulder, whispering about angles and precision. She chose robes that were slate grey and crimson, the colors of practical authority, and walked to the Palace.

The War Room was already loud when she arrived. Sokka was spinning in his chair, balancing a scroll on his nose. Zuko was standing by the window, looking out at the crater with that familiar, Atlas-like tension in his shoulders, and sitting quietly at the end of the table was Katara. She was pouring tea. Unlike the Generals who spilled and slurped, her movements were fluid; waterbending movements. She looked up as Nia entered, her blue eyes warm but sharp.

"Nia," Katara greeted, offering a small, polite smile. "You’re early."

"Discipline is the better part of valor, Master Katara," Nia replied smoothly, her voice wearing the diplomat’s mask. She walked to her seat, placing her scroll case on the table.

"You look tired," Katara noted, not unkindly. It was a healer’s observation. "Your energy is... tight."

"I am fine," Nia lied, perhaps a little too quickly. "I trust we are reviewing the steel shipment logs today?"

"Boring!" Sokka groaned, the scroll tumbling off his nose. "I was thinking, since we have all this steel, why don't we build giant metal slides for the mail system? Much faster!"

"Sokka," Zuko sighed, turning around. "We are not building slides."

"You have no vision, Sparky! Hey, Nia! Catch!"

It happened before her brain could process it. Sokka flicked his wrist. A heavy brass paperweight, intended to be a playful toss, sailed through the air toward her face.

Nia didn't flinch. She didn't gasp. The dream took over. Don't push. Snap.

Her hand shot up in a blur. THWACK.

She snatched the heavy brass weight out of the air, inches from her nose. The movement was so sharp, so predatory, that the impact echoed in the silent room. It wasn't a catch, it was an interception.

She froze, her arm extended, her fist clenched around the metal. It felt exactly like the knife handle.

"Whoa," Sokka whispered, lowering his hand. "Okay. Ninja reflexes. Note to self: do not throw things at Lady Nia."

Nia slowly lowered her hand. Her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She set the brass seal on the table with a trembling hand.

"Please," she whispered, her voice tight. "Don't do that again."

"That wasn't a reflex."

Nia looked up. It wasn't Zuko who spoke. It was Katara. The waterbender was watching her closely, her brow furrowed. She had stopped pouring the tea.

"Sokka catches things with his face," Katara said, glancing at her brother. "You caught that like you were expecting it to hurt you."

Nia stiffened. She felt exposed. Katara was seeing too much. "I grew up with a brother, Master Katara," Nia deflected, her tone cooling. "One learns to be quick."

"Seraim," Zuko said quietly from the window.

Nia’s eyes snapped to the Fire Lord. The name hung in the air, heavy and sharp. It felt like a violation. She hadn't spoken that name in the Palace. She hadn't spoken it to anyone but the empty air in her kitchen.

"I didn't tell you his name," Nia said, her voice dropping the diplomat’s pitch and hitting a low, dangerous note. "How do you know that?"

Zuko turned around. He looked a little guilty, caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Or rather, the filing cabinet.

"I read the personnel files," Zuko muttered, crossing his arms defensively. "When I appointed the new Council. I needed to know who I was working with."

"You read the files?" Sokka asked, his mouth full of a sticky bun he had produced from nowhere. "Dude. Those are so boring. It's just birth dates and tax codes."

"It's not just tax codes," Zuko argued, his ears turning slightly pink. "It's... background. Context."

He looked at Nia. He didn't back down.

"Seraim of House Tang. Deployed to the Earth Kingdom front, 95 AG. KIA at the Siege of Ba Sing Se. He was twenty three."

Nia felt a chill go down her spine. He didn't just know the name. He had memorized the service record.

"You memorized my file," Nia stated flatly.

"I remember things," Zuko deflected, looking away. "It's a leader's job."

"You don't know my middle name," Sokka pointed out helpfully.

"Trick question," Zuko snapped instantly. "The Southern Water Tribe doesn’t use middle names, and Toph doesn't have one because the Beifongs think their last name is enough."

Sokka blinked. "Okay. Creepy. Impressive, but creepy."

Katara set her tea cup down with a soft clink. She was smiling behind her hand. She saw exactly what was happening. Zuko wasn't just "being a leader." He was obsessed.

Nia stared at Zuko. She was torn between being offended by the invasion of privacy and... something else. No one had said Seraim's name in years. Her mother refused to speak it, and her grandmother pretended he never existed because he died "without honor" (aka, he lost).

But Zuko remembered.

"He was a good soldier," Zuko said into the silence, his voice softer now. "The reports said he shielded his unit from a rockslide. He didn't just die, he saved three people."

Nia’s breath hitched. She hadn't known that. The official letter had just said killed in action.

"He..." Nia started, then stopped. She had to swallow the lump in her throat. "He liked to save things."

Zuko held her gaze. The gold eyes were intense, stripping away the layers of "Lady Tang" she tried so hard to maintain.

"Then it runs in the family," Zuko said.

Nia looked down at her tea. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it might vibrate the cup off the table. She realized then that Zuko wasn't just looking at her as a Councilwoman. He was looking at her as a puzzle he was desperate to solve.

"The steel logs," Nia said abruptly, her voice trembling. "We need to discuss the steel logs."

"Right," Zuko agreed, though he didn't move his eyes from her face for another long second. "The logs."

Sokka leaned over to Katara and whispered loudly, "Is it just me, or is it getting really hot in here?"

Katara just sipped her tea. "Drink your tea, Sokka."

Nia forced her hands to stop shaking as she unrolled the parchment. The sound of dry paper crinkling was the only noise in the room for a long moment.

"The Omashu bridge repairs," Nia announced, staring laser-focused at the ink so she wouldn't have to look at the golden eyes burning a hole in her forehead. "The shipment of girders is delayed. Again. the governor claims it’s a supply chain issue, but if you look at the ledger on line forty-two..."

She pointed a manicured finger at the column of numbers.

"...he’s lying. The tonnage doesn't match the transport fees. He’s skimming steel to rebuild his own private estate."

Sokka leaned forward, squinting at the numbers. "Whoa. Good catch. I would have just assumed math was hard and moved on."

"It is blatant corruption," Nia said, her voice regaining its icy, statue-like precision. It felt safe to be angry at a governor. It was easier than processing the fact that the Fire Lord knew her dead brother’s heroics. "I suggest we revoke his permit and divert the shipment through the mountain pass."

"Do it," Zuko said.

He hadn't looked at the scroll. He was still looking at her.

"Zuko," Iroh warned softly. "The scroll is on the table."

"I trust her judgment," Zuko said, finally tearing his eyes away from Nia to glare at the map. "If Lady Nia says the governor is stealing, then he’s stealing. Draft the order. I’ll sign it."

Nia felt a flush rise up her neck, but it wasn't embarrassment this time. It was the strange, alien sensation of being trusted. In her mother’s house, her opinions were noise, they were rebellion. Here, they were law.

They worked for another hour. The conversation shifted to grain tariffs, colony repatriations, and the endless headache of the Yu Dao border, but the atmosphere in the room was shifting.

Specifically, the temperature.

Sokka fanned himself with a loose piece of parchment. Sweat was beading on his forehead. He tugged at his Water Tribe collar. "Okay, seriously," Sokka panted. "Is the volcano active today? Why is it a sauna in here?"

Katara shot a look at Zuko. The Fire Lord was leaning over the table, debating a border line with Nia. His hands were pressed flat against the map. Where his palms touched the paper, the ink was starting to steam slightly.

Zuko was radiating heat. Intense, focused, unconscious firebending heat. It was filling the room, turning the cool Council chamber into a furnace.

"I don't feel anything," Zuko muttered, distracted.

"That's because you are the heater, Sparky!" Sokka complained. "Turn it down! I’m melting! I’m a puddle of Sokka!"

Nia paused. She looked at Sokka, who was visibly suffering. Then she looked at Katara, who had encased her tea in a small sphere of ice to keep it cool.

Then she realized something strange. She wasn't cold.

For the first time in years, maybe since she was a child running on the beach, because the deep, aching chill in her bones was gone. The "ghost of the marble floor" wasn't biting at her ankles. She felt... comfortable.

She looked at Zuko. He was standing close to her, pointing at the map. The heat radiating off him wasn't oppressive to her. It was like standing next to a hearth in the middle of winter. It was soaking into her stiff shoulders, melting the tension she had carried since the knife practice in her dream.

"I think the temperature is fine," Nia said quietly.

Sokka stared at her in betrayal. "You’re wearing three layers of velvet! How are you not cooking?"

Nia didn't answer. She just moved her arm on the table, inching it slightly closer to Zuko’s. Just to check. The warmth intensified. It was magnetic.

Zuko seemed to sense her movement. He looked down at her. The intense, furrowed-brow expression softened for a fraction of a second. He didn't move away. If anything, he leaned in closer to read the small print, his shoulder brushing against hers.

"Fine," Sokka groaned, throwing his hands up. "I guess we’re all just firebenders now. I’ll just dehydrate in silence. Tell my dad I died for tax reform."

"Finish the report, Sokka," Zuko ordered, though there was no real bite in his voice.

Nia picked up her quill to take notes. Her hand, usually stiff and cold, felt loose. Fluid. Be fast. Be right. She wrote down the orders with perfect precision, basking in the heat of the Fire Lord, wondering if maybe, just maybe, she didn't have to be a statue to survive in this palace.

Maybe she just needed to stand closer to the fire.

***

88 AG (15 Years Ago), The Royal Banquet Hall, The Fire Lord’s Summer Solstice Feast.

The world was too red. That was six-year-old Nia’s only thought. The curtains were red, the carpets were red, and the adults were wearing red. It felt like standing inside a mouth.

She gripped her father’s hand so tight her fingers hurt. Shareen of House Tang was wearing his formal armor, but he didn't feel stiff like the other men, he felt like safety. He felt like the sea. "Easy, little flame," Shareen whispered, sensing her fear. He squeezed her hand back. "It’s just a dinner. If it gets too boring, we’ll sneak out to the courtyard and look for turtle-ducks."

Nia nodded, pressing her face against his leg to hide from the loud, laughing officers.

"Captain Tang!"

A booming, jovial voice made Nia jump. A large man with a wide, friendly face and a topknot walked toward them. He held a cup of tea as if it were a weapon of war. It was the legendary General Iroh, the Dragon of the West.

"General Iroh," Shareen bowed, a genuine smile breaking his ‘soldier face.’ "I didn't think you’d be back from the front so soon."

"A man cannot live on rations alone, Shareen!" Iroh laughed, patting his stomach. "I missed the palace roast duck, and my nephew missed his cousin."

Iroh looked down. He tapped his leg. "Come on out, Prince Zuko. Don't be rude."

Slowly, reluctantly, a small face peeked out from behind General Iroh’s heavy robes. It was Prince Zuko. He was five years old, and was small for his age. He had a soft, round face and no scar. He looked terrified. He gripped Iroh’s robes the same way Nia gripped her father’s hand, like a lifeline.

"Hello," Zuko whispered, his voice barely audible over the music.

"This is my daughter, Nia," Shareen introduced gently. "Nia, bow to the Prince."

Nia stepped out from behind her father. She didn't bow immediately. She froze. She looked at Zuko. Zuko looked at Nia.

For a moment, the noise of the party faded. The laughing generals, the clinking glasses, the heavy smell of incense, it all went quiet.

Nia saw a boy who looked like he wanted to disappear. Zuko saw a girl whose eyes were the exact same color as his: golden, and filled with the exact same fear.

They stared at each other with the profound, silent understanding of children who know they don't belong. You are scared too, Nia’s eyes said. I want to go home, Zuko’s eyes answered.

"She has pretty eyes," Zuko blurted out suddenly.

Then, realizing he had spoken out loud, his face turned bright red. He immediately hid his face back in Iroh’s robes.

Iroh roared with laughter. "Ha! A sharp observation, nephew! The Tang family is known for their vision."

Shareen smiled down at Nia. "Go on, Nia. Say thank you."

"Thank you, Prince Zuko," Nia whispered, clutching her dress.

She didn't look away. Even as the adults started talking about war and supply lines, Nia kept watching the spot where Zuko was hiding. Eventually, Zuko peeked out again. One gold eye visible. He blinked at her. She blinked back.

They never saw each other again after that. 

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, Nia stood in the Republic port and assessed the tactical situation.

When Zuko had assigned her to the "Harmony Restoration Pilot Program," she had requested a detailed itinerary. She hadn't received one. Now she knew why.

"Okay, let’s load it up!"

Sokka was currently trying to shove a crate of supplies onto the saddle of a ten-ton flying bison. Appa was shedding clumps of white fur that drifted through the air like snow.

Nia didn't flinch at the smell (wet dog and hay). She had smelled much worse in the Shoji refugees. She didn't flinch at the dirt. She just tightened her grip on her travel bag. She was wearing her "Councilwoman" armor: dark grey traveling robes, stiff collar, hair pinned painfully tight.

"You brought a lot of trunks," a voice said from the ground.

Nia looked down. A small, blind Earth Kingdom girl, around 16 years old, was sitting in the dirt, picking her ear. It was Toph Beifong, the greatest earthbender in the world.

"They are necessary supplies, Master Beifong," Nia said smoothly.

"Supplies?" Toph snorted. "Sokka packed jerky and a boomerang. What do you have in there? Rocks?"

"Water filtration tablets," Nia listed off, her voice flat. "Compressed dried rations. Emergency medical flares. Two weeks of spare grain. And a tent that is actually waterproof."

Toph paused. She tilted her head, her blind eyes fixed on Nia’s boots. She slapped the ground. Thump.

"You're not lying," Toph muttered. She sounded disappointed. "I thought you were a princess packing tiaras."

"I am a logistician," Nia corrected. "And I prefer not to die of dysentery in the woods."

Toph grinned. It was a feral, jagged smile. "You stand funny," Toph noted.

"I stand with proper posture."

"No," Toph stood up and poked Nia hard in the shin with her bare foot. "You stand like you're expecting someone to sweep your leg. Your weight is all on your toes."

Nia froze. The reflex, or well, Seraim’s reflex, twitched in her thigh. Kick back. Drop low. Knife hand. She forced herself to remain perfectly still.

"Old habits," Nia said quietly.

Toph laughed. "You're weird. You smell like expensive lavender soap, but you stand like a street fighter. I like you. You can sit next to me."

Toph turned and earthbent herself up onto the bison saddle without another word. Nia let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She had passed the test… or failed it. She wasn't sure.

"She likes you," Zuko’s voice came from behind her.

Nia turned. Zuko was there, holding the last of the crates. He wasn't wearing his crown. He was wearing simple crimson traveling gear, his hair in a wolf-tail. He looked relieved to be out of the palace.

"Does she?" Nia asked. "She poked me."

"That’s a sign of affection," Zuko smirked. "If she didn't like you, she would have thrown a boulder at you."

He nodded at the bison. "You ready? It’s a long flight to the Earth Kingdom."

Nia looked at the massive beast. "I have slept on worse than a saddle," she said, more to herself than him.

Zuko frowned slightly. He looked at her—really looked at her. He saw the thick robes, but he heard the tone. The tone of someone who knew exactly what "worse" felt like.

"I know," Zuko said softly.

He offered her a hand to help her up the side of the bison. Nia hesitated. She usually refused help. She was used to climbing fences and fire escapes alone. But Zuko’s hand was there, open and waiting.

She took it. His grip was firm and warm. He hauled her up with ease.

***

The wind at three thousand feet was brutal. Nia sat in the back of the saddle, her back pressed against the wood. She wasn't complaining. In the refugee dorms during college, the windows didn't have glass, so she had learned to sleep while shivering years ago.

The Gaang was a chaotic pile of limbs in the front. Sokka was shouting about cloud shapes, Aang was doing airbending tricks, Katara was bending the water in the clouds, and Toph was asleep, using Sokka’s leg as a pillow.

Nia sat alone in the back, stiff and silent. She was watching the horizon, counting the supply crates, calculating ration distribution in her head. Two weeks of food. Five people. If we get stranded...

"Here."

A dark red bundle landed in her lap. Nia blinked. She looked up. Zuko was sitting across from her. He had taken off his outer cloak. He was just in his tunic now, arms crossed, looking out at the sky.

"I don't need it," Nia lied. "I have layers."

"You're vibrating," Zuko said without looking at her. "Put it on. If the Councilwoman freezes to death, I have to do all the paperwork."

Nia looked at the cloak. It was heavy wool, lined with silk. It smelled like smoke and cedar, his smell. She remembered the nights in the drafty dormitory, wrapping herself in thin blankets because she had sold her coat to pay for textbooks.

She unfolded the cloak. She wrapped it around her shoulders. The residual heat from his body was still trapped in the fabric. It was instant, overwhelming warmth.

"Thank you," Nia whispered.

"Don't get used to it," Zuko grunted, though his ears were pink. "Sokka usually steals it."

"Hey!" Sokka yelled from the front. "I heard that! And for the record, your cloak itches!"

Nia pulled the cloak tighter around herself, burying her nose in the collar to hide a small smile. She watched Zuko watching the clouds, and she realized Toph was right: he stood like a fighter too. Maybe this mission wouldn't be so bad.

***

The great city of Omashu rose out of the mountain range like a stone fist punching the sky. The massive delivery chutes snaked around the peaks, buzzing with activity.

From the back of the saddle, Nia stared at the city. She didn't look impressed. She looked... calculating. She was mentally mapping exits.

"You're doing it again," Toph’s voice cut through the wind.

Nia didn't turn. She was wrapped in Zuko’s red cloak, her arms crossed tight. "Doing what, Beifong?"

"The 'I'm a statue' thing," Toph said, scooting closer until her arm bumped Nia’s. "Your heart rate is steady. Too steady. It’s creepy. Normal people get excited when they see a giant city. You get quiet."

"I am analyzing the topography," Nia lied smoothly. "The approach vectors are steep."

"Lie," Toph declared flatly. She poked Nia in the ribs. "You're hungry."

Nia blinked. She was hungry. She was always hungry. The rationing habits of her university years—where she skipped meals to afford ink—never really left her.

"We ate an hour ago," Nia deflected.

"You ate half a ration bar," Toph corrected. "And you wrapped the other half in a napkin and shoved it in your boot. I felt you do it."

Zuko, who had been dozing against a supply crate, cracked one eye open. He looked at Nia’s boot.

Nia’s face flushed. It was a reflex. Save half for later. You don't know when the next meal is coming. "It is... prudent to keep reserves," Nia said stiffly.

"It's weird," Toph said. "You talk like a rich girl. You dress like a rich girl. Sokka says your robes cost more than his village."

"Hey!" Sokka yelled from the driver's seat. "My village has great economic value!"

Toph ignored him. She turned her blind eyes directly toward Nia.

"But you don't feel like a rich girl," Toph interrogated, her voice dropping lower. "Rich girls walk heavy. They expect the ground to catch them. They waste food. They complain about the cold."

Toph leaned in, her nose inches from Nia’s.

"You walk like you're afraid the floor is gonna crack. You hoard food in your shoes. And you sleep with a knife under your pillow."

Zuko sat up fully now. The air in the saddle shifted. "Toph," Zuko warned, his voice low. "Back off."

"I'm just asking!" Toph threw her hands up. "I’m trying to figure out the puzzle! Who are you, really, Lady Tang? Because the 'Diplomat' act is getting boring."

Nia looked at Toph. She could lie. She could use her Council voice. But Toph would hear the heartbeat skip.

Nia reached down to her boot. She pulled out the half-eaten, wrapped ration bar. She unwrapped it slowly.

"My father was a commander in the Fire Nation army. He died when I was 10 years old." Nia said quietly. The wind snatched her words, but Zuko and Toph heard them. "He left me a small fortune, and when I had to go to Shoij, I was cut off by my family."

She took a bite of the dry, tasteless bar. She didn't drop a single crumb.

"I lived in a refugee camp for years," Nia admitted, looking at the stone city below. "Tuition took the rest n . I lived in a shelter with four other families. We shared one window."

Zuko stared at her. His mouth opened slightly. He knew about Seraim. He knew about the Tang lineage, but the file hadn't mentioned poverty. The file just said "Educated at Shoji University." It didn't mention that the daughter of a Fire Nation Commander was sleeping on a floor in the city of Shoji.

"So, yes, Master Beifong," Nia finished, swallowing the dry food. "I walk light, because in the outskirts of Shoji, if you walk heavy, you get mugged, and I keep the food. Because tomorrow, the shipment might not come."

Silence reigned in the saddle, even Sokka had stopped talking.

Toph’s face changed. The smirk vanished. She looked... impressed. She punched Nia in the arm. Hard.

"Okay," Toph grinned. "You're cool. You can keep the knife."

"I intended to," Nia replied dryly, rubbing her arm.

Zuko didn't smile. He was watching Nia with a new, intense gravitation. The "Princess" he thought he was protecting was actually a survivor who had clawed her way out of the gutter just like he had.

"The Outskirts," Zuko repeated softly.

"It builds character," Nia said, pulling his cloak tighter around herself. "And immunity to bad smells. Which is why I am the only one not complaining about the bison."

"Yip yip!" Aang shouted. "We're landing!"

As Appa banked toward the villafe delivery chutes, Zuko leaned forward. "Nia," he whispered, so only she could hear.

She looked at him.

"You don't have to save the food anymore," he said, his voice fierce and warm. "I promise."

Nia looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time, the hunger in her stomach felt a little less sharp. "Old habits, Zuko," she whispered back. "But... noted."

Once Aang spotted the Fire Nation ships with the steel, he directed Appa towards them, and once they landed, the entire group realized that the situation they had to face would be… complicated. 

A mob of about two hundred Earth Kingdom villagers had blocked the road. They weren't soldiers; they were farmers, laborers, and mothers, and they were furious. They were throwing rocks at the Fire Nation drivers, and they were trying to set fire to the wagons filled with lumber meant for their own roads.

"We don't want your blood money!" a man screamed, hurling a cabbage at a nervous Fire Nation soldier. "Take your ash and go back to hell!"

Zuko got off Appa and stepped forward, hands raised. He looked kingly, but terrified of hurting anyone. "Please!" Zuko shouted over the din. "These are supplies to rebuild the trade route! We are trying to help!" 

"Liar!" a woman shrieked. "You burned our fields last year, and now you want to build a road through them?" A rock hit Zuko’s shoulder. He flinched but didn't bend.

Aang floated up on his air scooter, looking peaceful and radiant. "Everyone, please! The war is over! Violence only breeds more violence! Let's solve this with dialogue!" 

"I can't eat words, Avatar!" a farmer yelled. "My kids are starving!"

Sokka reached for his boomerang. "Okay, bad vibes… very bad vibes. Toph, can you... wall them off?" 

"And crush the angry peasants?" Toph cracked her knuckles. "Sure, but it’s bad PR."

Nia didn't look at Zuko, or at Aang. She was looking at the wagons, and saw inefficiency. She saw good lumber about to be wasted, and she saw hungry people acting irrationally because of resource scarcity.

She took off Zuko’s red cloak and handed it to him. "Hold this," she ordered.

She walked straight toward the mob. She didn't have weapons drawn. She held a scroll. 

"Nia, come back!" Zuko hissed. "It’s not safe!"

Nia ignored him. She climbed up onto the lead wagon, the one they were trying to torch. She stood on the crate of steel beams, looking down at the mob. She looked like a statue made of grey silk and iron.

She didn't scream, and she didn't plead, so she whistled. It was a sharp, piercing sound, the kind she learned in the refugee camps to signal a food drop. It cut through the shouting instantly.

"The current market value of this lumber is four hundred gold pieces," Nia announced. Her voice wasn't loud, but it projected perfectly (Council training). The mob paused, confused by the math.

"If you burn it," Nia continued, checking her scroll, "you are burning your own inheritance. This wood and steel are allocated for your bridge. The bridge that connects you to Omashu. 

"We don't need Fire Nation charity!" the ringleader shouted.

"It is not charity," Nia snapped. She looked him dead in the eye. "It is reparations. It is a debt payment." She pointed a sharp finger at the man. "You. What is your trade?" 

The man blinked. "I... I'm a mason." 

"And you?" She pointed to the woman next to him. "Carpenter."

Nia nodded. She turned to the terrified Fire Nation captain driving the wagon. "Captain, how much are these soldiers being paid to build the road?"

"Uh... standard wage, Ma'am. Five silver pieces a day."

Nia turned back to the mob. "The soldiers are fired," she declared. The crowd gasped. Zuko’s jaw dropped. "Nia, what-"

"I am firing the Fire Nation labor force," Nia said calmly. "It is inefficient to transport soldiers this far just to dig holes. I am reallocating the budget." She looked at the Mason. "I will pay you seven silver pieces a day to build the bridge. I will pay the Carpenter seven silver pieces to frame it." She scanned the crowd. "I have the budget for fifty laborers. Seven silver pieces a day, plus rations from the wagon. Who wants a job?"

The silence was absolute. Seven silver pieces was a fortune. It was more than they made in a month. The "Blood Money" narrative vanished. Now it was just money.

"You... you'd pay us?" the Mason asked, lowering his rock. "To build our own bridge?" 

"I don't care who builds it," Nia lied (she actually cared very much). "I care that the spreadsheet balances. Fire Nation soldiers are expensive to feed. You live here. It’s cheaper to hire you."

She kicked the crate of food rations open. An apple rolled out. "Work starts in ten minutes," Nia said. "Line up by trade. Masons on the left. Carpenters on the right, earthbenders in the center. Anyone who throws another rock forfeits their paycheck."

It only took thirty seconds. The mob didn't disperse, they organized. The rocks were dropped. People started shoving each other to get into the "Mason Line" or the "Carpenter Line." 

The Fire Nation soldiers looked at Nia, bewildered. "Ma'am? Are we fired?" 

"You're reassigned to security," Nia whispered to the Captain. "Keep the peace. Let them build."

Nia climbed down from the wagon. She smoothed her robes. She walked back to the Gaang. Aang’s mouth was open, Sokka was staring at her with wide eyes, Katara was beaming, and Toph was grinning.

"You just..." Zuko stammered. "You just hired the riot."

"People aren't angry because of politics, Zuko," Nia said, taking her scroll back. "They are angry because they are hungry and powerless. I gave them food and a job. Politics can wait."

She looked at Sokka. "We are moving out. The road will be clear in an hour."

Sokka leaned over to Zuko. "Okay," Sokka whispered. "She is terrifying. Can we keep her?"

Zuko watched Nia walk away, shoulders stiff, hands shaking slightly (because she was terrified, but she hid it). "Yeah," Sokka smiled softly to Zuko. "We're keeping her."

***

Later that day- Omashu

"Absolutely not," Nia said. She stood at the top of the Omashu delivery chute. It was a steep, winding stone slide that vanished into the city below. The carts were careening down it at roughly 45 miles per hour. 

"It is the fastest way down!" Aang beamed, spinning his staff. "Trust me, Nia! It’s fun!" 

"It is a violation of basic physics and public safety," Nia stated, clutching her scroll. "The centripetal force alone—" 

"We don't have time for physics!" Sokka grabbed her arm. "Mush!"

Sokka shoved the crate. Nia let out a very un-dignified squeak as they tipped over the edge. For the next two minutes, the Minister of Economics did not calculate anything. She simply held onto the cart’s edge with a grip that could crush steel, eyes shut tight, while Toph and Katara cackled maniacally beside her.

When the crate finally skidded to a halt in the lower market, Nia rolled out. She stood up. She smoothed her hair. She checked her pulse. "Inefficient," she wheezed, her legs shaking. "We could have taken the stairs." 

"But the stairs are boring!" Aang cheered. "Come on! King Bumi is waiting!"

The doors to the palace blew open. King Bumi was sitting on his throne, wearing nothing but his shorts and a wild grin. He was holding a large, glowing crystal. 

"Aang!" Bumi cackled. "You brought friends! And... enemies? Is that the brooding fire boy?"

"It’s Fire Lord Zuko," Zuko corrected, bowing respectfully. "We come to ask for your counsel regarding the colonies."

"Boring!" Bumi threw the crystal. It shattered against the wall. "Who is the grey cloud standing next to you?"

Nia stepped forward. She reverted to her "Court Mode." Shoulders back. Face blank. "I am Lady Nia," she announced, bowing precisely 45 degrees. "High Councilwoman of the Fire Nation and Minister of Economics. We have prepared a dossier regarding the resource allocation for the Harmony Restoration-"

"Flopsie!" Bumi screamed. "Attack!"

Before Nia could process the order, a massive, furry mountain of muscle, a goat-gorilla, , burst from the side room. It roared, slobbering everywhere, and charged straight for her. Sokka yelped and hid behind Katara. Zuko reached for his swords.

Nia didn't move. She had grown up in the Fire Nation palace with komodo rhinos. She knew predators, so she looked at the creature. She saw the ears pinned back (playful), not flat (aggressive). She saw the tail wagging. 

"Sit," Nia ordered.

It wasn't a shout. It was the same tone she used on her refugee-mates when they could not get out of bed. Flopsie froze. The giant beast blinked. Nia reached into her pocket (where she always kept dried jerky for emergencies). She held it out. "Good boy," she whispered.

Flopsie let out a happy bleat, licked her entire face (covering her in slime), and flopped onto his back, demanding belly rubs. Nia wiped the slime from her eyes calmly. "The creature is domesticated," she noted to the horrified group. "And clearly malnourished. His coat is dull."

Bumi let out a shriek of laughter. He leaped from his throne, landing right in front of Nia. He leaned in, his crazy eyes wide and unblinking. 

"You tamed the beast with a snack! Clever girl!" He poked her forehead, hard. "But you are so stiff! You stand like a rock, but you dress like a cloud. Which one are you?"

"I am an accountant, Your Majesty," Nia said, trying not to flinch.

"Accountant?" Bumi snorted. "You count beans? Boring! I count possibilities!" He grabbed her scroll. He glanced at her meticulous spreadsheet of the riot supplies. "Straight lines," Bumi muttered, tracing the ink. "Everything in boxes. Everything safe."

He looked up at her, and for a second, the madness dropped. His ancient eyes were sharp, lucid, and terrifyingly perceptive. "You think if you put the world in a box, it won't hurt you," Bumi whispered.

Nia stopped breathing. It was too close to the truth. "Order creates stability, Your Majesty," she defended weakly.

"Order creates stagnation!" Bumi shouted, tossing the scroll over his shoulder. (Nia watched it fly away with a pained expression). "Chaos is where the growth happens! Look at Zuko! He was a mess! Now he's a Fire Lord! Chaos!"

Bumi turned to Zuko. "You want my advice on the colonies? Don't ask the Avatar. Don't ask the Accountant." He pointed a gnarled finger at Nia. "She wants to fix the puzzle by gluing the pieces together so they stop moving. But people aren't puzzle pieces, Lady Nia. They are weeds. They grow where they want."

Nia stood there, Flopsie drooling on her boots, feeling completely exposed. "What is your advice then?" Nia asked, her voice tight.

Bumi grinned. A wide, toothy, insane grin. "Throw a feast!" 

"A... feast?" Zuko asked, confused. "Yes! A feast where the food fights back! If they can eat together without dying, they can live together without fighting! GENIUS!"

Bumi leaped into the air. "Prepare the Jennamite! And someone get the Accountant a towel. She smells like Flopsie."

Chapter Text

King Bumi’s idea of "diplomatic preparations" looked less like a peace summit and more like a riot in a bakery.

"More rock candy!" Bumi screamed, sliding down the bannister of the palace's grand staircase. "And move the tables! If the delegates get too comfortable, they’ll stop thinking! I want the Fire Nation delegation seated on the chandelier!"

"Sir," a weary Earth Kingdom advisor sighed, clutching a scroll. "The Fire Lord cannot sit on a chandelier. It is a fire hazard."

"Fine!" Bumi huffed, landing with a thud. "Then put him next to the saber-tooth moose-lion. It’s shedding season. That should keep him alert!"

From the balcony, the Gaang watched the chaos. Zuko looked like he was regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment, and Sokka was taking notes on Bumi’s "strategic unpredictability."

"Alright," Sokka clapped his hands. "While the Mad King reinvents the concept of dinner, we need to get settled. Bumi gave us the East Wing. We guys can take the left, you girls take the right. No wandering off, Toph."

"I go where the vibrations take me, Snoozles," Toph declared, already marching toward the girls' quarters.

The guest room was massive, carved directly into the mountain stone. It had three beds, a stunning view of the Omashu delivery chutes, and absolutely zero privacy.

Toph immediately claimed the bed closest to the window. She kicked off her foot covers, earthbent the mattress into a rock slab ("Too soft," she muttered), and sprawled out.

Nia stood by the bed furthest from the door. She didn't sit, she placed her trunk on the floor and began to unpack with the precision of a surgeon. Robes. Folded. Stacked. Scrolls. Aligned. Left corner. Knife. Under the pillow. Handle out.

Katara sat on the middle bed, brushing her hair. She watched Nia work. "You know we're only staying for two nights, right?" Katara asked gently. "You don't have to organize everything."

"Disorganization leads to lost assets," Nia replied automatically. She smoothed a wrinkle out of her sleeping tunic. Her movements were fluid, silent, and terrifyingly perfect.

Toph burped loudly. "You're doing it again," Toph mumbled into her stone pillow. "Being a statue. Your heart rate is so slow it’s annoying. Are you even alive over there?"

"I am conserving energy," Nia said.

Katara set her brush down. She had been watching Nia for weeks. She saw the way Nia ate (small bites, never speaking with her mouth full), the way she stood (hands clasped, spine rigid), and the way she never, ever complained. To Katara, who had grown up wild in the snow, it looked exhausting.

"You have incredible manners," Katara said, trying to be complimentary. "Like... really perfect. Did your mom teach you that?"

Nia’s hand froze over her stack of folded robes. The air in the room seemed to drop a few degrees.

"Yes," Nia said. Her voice was hollow. "She did."

"She must be very elegant," Katara smiled, thinking of her own mother’s warmth. "Is she like you?"

Nia looked at the grey stone wall, but she didn't see the wall. She saw a room full of silk and silence.

***

92 AG (Nia is 10 years old) Location: The Tang Estate. The Tea Room.

The room smelled of jasmine and fear. Ten-year-old Nia sat on her knees on the bamboo mat. Her legs were screaming in pain. She had been kneeling for an hour. Her dark auburn hair was pulled back so tightly it pulled at her scalp, giving her a headache.

Across the low table sat Irina. Nia’s mother was beautiful. She was pale, like a porcelain doll, with perfect makeup and robes that cost more than a battleship. But her eyes were dead. They were the eyes of a woman who had learned that feeling things was dangerous.

"Again," Irina whispered.

Nia picked up the tea pot. Her small hands were shaking. The heavy ceramic felt like it weighed a ton. She tried to pour the tea into the tiny cup. Clink. The spout hit the rim of the cup. A tiny sound. A tiny mistake.

"Stop," Irina said.

Nia froze. Tears pricked her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mother. My hand slipped."

"We do not have 'slips'," Irina said. Her voice wasn't angry. It was cold. It was the voice of a ghost. She reached across the table and took Nia’s chin in her hand. Her fingers were freezing.

"Look at me, Nia."

Nia looked. She wanted her mom to hug her. She wanted her mom to say, 'It’s okay, go play outside with Seraim.' But Irina didn't hug. Hugging was messy.

"Grandmother Keres is in the next room," Irina whispered, her eyes darting to the sliding door. "If she hears the pot hit the cup, she will come in here. Do you want her to come in here?"

Nia’s eyes widened. She shook her head frantically. No. Grandmother Keres hit with a cane. Grandmother Keres yelled about honor and clumsiness.

"Then be a stone," Irina commanded. She smoothed a stray hair from Nia’s face, but there was no affection in the touch. It was like she was fixing a crooked painting. "If you are soft, the world will break you. If you are loud, the world will find you. You must be silent. You must be perfect. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mother," Nia whimpered, a tear finally escaping and rolling down her cheek.

Irina sighed. She took a silk handkerchief and wiped the tear away. "Don't cry," Irina said flatly. "Crying makes your face puffy. It makes you look weak. If you are weak, you are efficient to remove."

Irina placed the teapot back in Nia’s trembling hands. "Pour it again. And this time... do not exist. Just pour."

Nia took a breath. She choked back the sob in her throat. She imagined she was made of ice. She imagined she had no heart, no legs, no fear. She poured. The stream of liquid was silent. Perfect. Irina nodded once. A tiny, imperceptible movement. "Good," she whispered. "Now. Do it for another hour."

***

"Nia?"

Katara’s voice snapped her back. Nia blinked. She was still standing over her trunk. Her hand was gripping the silk fabric of her robe so hard her knuckles were white.

"You okay?" Toph asked, sitting up. "Your heart just did a weird skip thing."

Nia released the fabric. She smoothed it out, erasing the wrinkles she had made. "I am fine," Nia said. Her voice was back to the "Council Voice." Smooth. Detached.

She turned to Katara. "My mother taught me that presentation is a weapon," Nia said simply. "If people are looking at your manners, they are not looking at your intentions."

Katara frowned. It was a sad answer. It sounded like something a soldier would say, not a daughter. "Oh," Katara said quietly. "Well... she sounds... effective."

"She survived," Nia corrected.

She closed her trunk with a soft click. "I am going to check the security perimeter before the feast," Nia announced. "The King’s goat-gorilla is a liability."

She walked out of the room before Katara could ask another question. She walked perfectly. Her footsteps made no sound. Her back was straight. Just like a doll.

Toph laid back down, frowning. "You know," Toph muttered to the ceiling. "For someone who isn't an earthbender, she sure knows how to build a wall."

"Yeah," Katara sighed, looking at the perfectly folded robes Nia left behind. "But I think she's trapped behind it."

The door clicked shut behind Nia. Katara stared at the stone floor, her brow furrowed. She picked up the hairbrush Nia had aligned perfectly on the nightstand. "That wasn't normal," Katara murmured. "The way she shut down... it was like a switch flipped."

Toph rolled over, kicking her feet in the air. "It’s not a switch," Toph said, her voice unusually serious. "It’s a barricade. When she started talking about her mom, her heartbeat didn't speed up. It stopped." Toph frowned, tapping her chin. "I’ve felt liars, I’ve felt scared people, I’ve felt angry people. But Nia? She feels like she’s holding her breath. Like... if she lets it out, she’s gonna shatter."

"Her mom told her not to exist," Katara whispered, realizing the horror of it. "Just 'pour the tea.' Just be a tool."

"Well," Toph grunted, punching her pillow into a better shape. "Someone needs to tell her that tools don't eat ration bars in their boots. She’s messy inside, Katara, and she’s trying so hard to hide it."

Katara looked at the door again. She felt that familiar tug in her chest: the need to comfort, but she knew waterbending couldn't fix this. "I wonder what she was like," Katara said softly. "Before she learned to be a stone."

The wind in Omashu was strong. It whipped around the high peaks, tearing at Nia’s robes, pulling strands of hair loose from her severe bun. Nia gripped the stone railing. Her knuckles were white. She was breathing in a specific rhythm. In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.

Don't cry, Irina’s voice whispered in her ear. Crying makes your face puffy. Crying is inefficient. Salt ruins the makeup.

Nia squeezed her eyes shut. The pressure in her chest was unbearable. It felt like the lightning was trapped in her ribs again, buzzing, burning. She wasn't crying because of Irina. She was crying because for a split second, looking at Toph and Katara bickering over the bed, she had remembered what it felt like to be loud, to be messy, to be loved.

She gasped, a ragged, ugly sound, and pressed her forehead against the cold stone railing.

***
90 AG (Nia is 8 years old) Location: Ember Island. The Private Beach.

The sun was setting, painting the sky in violent shades of orange and purple. The sand was still warm. Nia was running. She wasn't walking with "proper posture." She wasn't gliding. She was sprinting, her bare feet kicking up sand, her hair a tangled disaster of salt and wind. She was laughing so hard her ribs hurt.

"I'm gonna get you!" Seraim was chasing her. He was 18, tall and awkward, holding a bucket of water. He was laughing too, his usually sad eyes bright with mischief.

"No!" Nia shrieked, delighted. She tripped over a piece of driftwood. She didn't fall gracefully. She face-planted. Hard. Into the wet sand.

If she were in the Tea Room, this would be a disaster. Keres would have caned her. Irina would have sighed at the dirty clothes, but she wasn't in the Tea Room.

Strong hands grabbed her under her arms and hoisted her into the air. "Gotcha, you little sand-crab!"

Nia squealed as she was swung up onto wide shoulders. Her father, Commander Shareen, was a giant of a man. He didn't have the sharp, cruel angles of the other Fire Nation officers. He had a broad, bearded face and laugh lines around his eyes. He smelled like campfire smoke and sea salt.

"Are you hurt?" her father asked, checking her scraped knee. "I'm okay!" Nia chirped, wiping sand off her face, leaving a muddy streak across her nose. "Did you see me run? I was faster than the wind!"

"Faster than a dragon!" Her father agreed, bouncing her on his shoulders. "Seraim, you're losing your touch. Your sister is outflanking you."

Seraim jogged up, panting, dropping the water bucket. "She cheats, Dad. She uses the terrain." 

"That's called strategy, son," Commander Tang laughed. A deep, booming sound that vibrated through Nia’s chest.

He walked them down to the water’s edge. He sat Nia down on a log, but he kept his arm around her, pulling her close. He didn't care that she was sandy. He didn't care that her knees were scraped. "Look at that," her father said, pointing at the horizon where the sun was touching the water. "Do you know why the sunset is beautiful, Nia?"

Little Nia looked at the colors. "Because it's bright?" 

"No," her father said softly, brushing the messy hair out of her eyes. "Because it's messy. The colors bleed into each other. The clouds are broken. If the sky was just one perfect color, it would be boring."

He kissed her forehead. "Never be afraid to be messy, Little Flamer, that's where the fire lives."

Seraim sat down next to them, his shoulder close to his dad’s left shoulder. Nia leaned on the other side. For a moment, there was no war, no Keres, no politics, just the three of them, a warm pile of humans watching the world end and begin again.

"I'll always protect you guys," Seraim murmured sleepily. 

"And I'll protect you!" Nia declared fiercely, puffing out her chest. Her father pulled them both into a crushing hug. 

"And I," he whispered into her hair, "Will love you no matter what, even if you fall, especially if you fall."

***

The wind howled. Nia opened her eyes. The sunset was gone. It was dark. Her father was dead. He had died in an ambush two years after that day on the beach. Seraim was dead. He had died at the Siege of Ba Sing Se, protecting a cousin who didn't deserve it.

Nia was alone on the balcony.

She reached up and touched her cheek. It was wet. She had failed. She had cried.

"Inefficient," she whispered to the empty air. Her voice cracked.

She wiped her face aggressively with her sleeve, scrubbing away the tears until her skin was red. She took a deep, shuddering breath. In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.

She straightened her spine. She smoothed her wind-blown hair. She locked the memory of the warm sand and the deep laughter into a box in the back of her mind, wrapped in chains.

She fixed her collar. She assumed the stance of the Diplomat. "The feast," she said to herself, her voice cold and steady once more. "Focus on the feast."

She turned and walked back inside, leaving the ghost of the little girl on the balcony.

***

The Grand Dining Hall of Omashu.

The doors opened. Nia walked in. She was flawless. Her hair was re-pinned. Her robes were smoothed. Her face was a mask of polite indifference, but inside, she was screaming.

The Dining Hall was a nightmare. Instead of a long table, Bumi had arranged the tables on floating rock platforms that drifted aimlessly around the room. You had to time your jump to get to the salad. The centerpiece was a massive pile of Jennamite (creeping crystal rock candy) that appeared to be slowly growing toward the guests.

"Nia!" Sokka waved frantically. He was currently clinging to a floating rock that was spinning slowly. "Don't eat the purple berries! They scream when you bite them!"

Nia assessed the room. She calculated the trajectory of the nearest floating platform. She timed her jump. Step. Leap. Land. She landed gracefully next to Zuko.

Zuko was sitting on a relatively stable rock, staring at a plate of what looked like glowing tofu. He looked up when she landed. He didn't look at her robes. He didn't look at her hair. He looked straight at her eyes.

They were red, the kind of red you get when you scrub your face with a rough sleeve to hide the tears. Zuko stiffened. His hand moved instinctively toward hers under the table. "You okay?" he murmured, low enough that Toph (who was upside down on the ceiling) wouldn't hear.

"I am fine," Nia said. Her voice was brittle glass. "The wind on the balcony is... irritating to the eyes."

Zuko didn't buy it, not for a second. He knew that "wind in the eyes" was an excuse for 'I just remembered something terrible' . If he pushed her now, she would shut down completely, so he did the only thing he could do.

He reached for the teapot in the center of the table. "Here," Zuko said quietly. He poured a cup for her. He did it clumsily. He spilled a little on the saucer. It was the opposite of Irina’s "Perfect Pour." It was a Zuko Pour, messy, well-intentioned, and warm.

Nia looked at the spill. She looked at Zuko’s scarred hand holding the cup. Her chest loosened, just a fraction. "Thank you," she whispered, taking the cup. The heat seeped into her cold fingers.

"WELCOME!" King Bumi bellowed, dropping from the ceiling and landing in his throne (which was also floating). "Tonight, we celebrate... COOPERATION!"

Bumi snapped his fingers. The Jennamite in the center of the table exploded. Shards of rock candy flew everywhere. But they didn't hit the ground. They hovered. Then, they formed into little rock-candy golems.

"Dinner is served!" Bumi cackled. "But first, you must CATCH IT!"

The rock-candy golems started running. "My dessert is escaping!" Sokka shrieked, diving off his chair.

A rock-chicken ran past Nia. She didn't move. She just stared at it. "This is not a dinner," Nia said flatly to Zuko. "This is a hunting exercise."

"Just grab a drumstick," Zuko sighed, catching a flying bread roll with one hand. "Before Toph eats the table."

Suddenly, a massive platter of Roast Duck-Pigs floated by, but the Duck-Pigs weren't dead. Well, they were cooked, but Bumi was bending them to make them dance. "Dance for the Fire Lord!" Bumi shouted. The ducks began to do the can-can.

Nia stared. She blinked once. Twice. The absurdity of it, the dancing ducks, the screaming berries, Sokka chasing a rock-candy man, crashed into her grief.

A tiny, strangled sound escaped her throat. Zuko looked at her, panicked. "Nia?"

She wasn't crying, she was laughing. It wasn't a polite chuckle. It was a sudden, snorting laugh that she immediately tried to cover with her hand. "The duck," she wheezed, pointing a shaking finger. "It's... it's doing a high kick."

Zuko stared at her. He had NEVER seen her laugh, or even smile. He grinned. A real, dorky grin. "Yeah," Zuko chuckled. "It's got better form than Commander Zhao."

Nia snorted again, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. "This kingdom is ridiculous," she laughed, the sound wet and relieved. "It's completely insane."

"It is," Zuko agreed, sliding a plate of (non-moving) rice in front of her. "Eat, before the rice decides to fight you."

Under the table, he kept his knee pressed against hers, like a solid anchor in a floating room. Nia ate, and for the first time that day, she didn't feel like a ghost.

***

Nia couldn't sleep. The stone bed was fine, the room was quiet (except for Katara’s soft breathing), but her mind was loud. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the tea cup, she heard the clink, she felt the cold phantom of Irina’s hand on her chin. Don't exist. Just pour.

She slipped out of bed. She grabbed her outer robe, wrapping it tight against the mountain chill, and stepped onto the balcony. She didn't make a sound. She didn't open the door; she slid through the gap. She walked on the balls of her feet.

"You're doing it again," a voice drawled from the shadows.

Nia froze. Toph was sitting on the stone railing, her legs dangling over the terrifying drop into the chasm below. She was kicking her feet back and forth casually.

"Doing what?" Nia asked, her voice a whisper. 

"Walking like a ghost," Toph said. She turned her head, her milky eyes staring blindly at Nia’s chest. "You move like you're trying to sneak past spirits. It’s annoying. Just walk like a person."

Nia walked to the railing. She stood three feet away from Toph, a respectful distance. "Insomnia is inefficient," Nia deflected. "I thought the fresh air would reset my circadian rhythm."

Toph snorted. She picked at a callous on her foot. "You use big words to hide small feelings, Lady Nia." Toph slapped the stone railing beside her. "Sit. You're blocking the wind."

Nia hesitated. The railing was narrow. The drop was lethal. Safety violation, her brain screamed. But she climbed up anyway. She sat next to Toph, legs dangling into the void.

"You asked me earlier," Toph said, not looking at her. "About the 'Heavy Step'."

Nia looked down at her hands. "I did."

"Most people," Toph explained, wiggling her toes in the air, "carry their weight in their hips or their shoulders. Soldiers carry it in their chest, cowards carry it in their knees." She turned to face Nia. "You carry your weight in your bones. You walk as light as the air, so no one hears you, but when you stand still? You feel like you weigh a thousand tons. Like you're rooted to the spot because if you move, something bad happens."

Nia gripped the edge of the stone. The accuracy was suffocating. "My mother," Nia said quietly. The words felt heavy on her tongue. "She didn't like noise. She didn't like mistakes. If I moved wrong... I was corrected."

Toph went still. The playful smirk vanished. "Corrected how?"

"With silence," Nia whispered. "She would look through me, like I wasn't there, for days, until I was perfect again." Nia looked out at the dark peaks of the mountains. "Being invisible was the only way to be safe. If I was a ghost, she couldn't be disappointed in me."

Toph was quiet for a long time. She kicked her heels against the stone. Thump. Thump. "My parents didn't want me to be a ghost," Toph said finally. Her voice was uncharacteristically soft. "They wanted me to be a doll."

Nia looked at her. "A doll?"

"Yeah," Toph scowled. "Because I'm blind, they thought I was made of sugar glass. 'Don't walk there, Toph, you'll fall.' 'Don't touch that, Toph, it's sharp.' They hid me from the world because they thought the world would break me." Toph clenched her small fist. "They loved me, but they didn't know me, they just loved the helpless little girl they invented."

Nia felt a strange pang in her chest: a connection. "My mother didn't think I was helpless," Nia murmured. "She thought I was a weapon that needed polishing, but... the result is the same, isn't it?"

Toph nodded. "Yeah. A cage is a cage. Doesn't matter if it's made of gold or silence."

Toph leaned back, resting on her elbows. "That's why I ran away," Toph said. "I'd rather eat dirt and travel the world than be a perfect little doll sitting on a shelf."

She turned her face to Nia. "Why did you run away, Nia? You didn't run to join a circus. You ran to... administration."

Nia let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "I didn't run away, Toph. I survived. My father died, my brother died, and my mother... faded. The estate was empty." Nia looked at her hands, the hands that could generate lightning, hands that could kill, hands that could balance a budget. "I joined the Council because rules make sense. Rules don't leave you. Rules don't die in a war."

"Boring," Toph declared, but there was no heat in it. She reached out and punched Nia in the arm. It wasn't a hard punch. It was a solidarity punch. "You know what your problem is?" Toph asked.

"I have several," Nia noted.

"Your problem is that you're still waiting for permission to make a sound," Toph said. She stood up on the railing, balancing effortlessly on the precipice. "You're not in the Tea Room anymore, Nia. The old lady isn't watching. Your mom isn't watching."

Toph took a deep breath and screamed into the night. "AAAAAHHHHHHHHH!" The echo bounced off the canyon walls. AHHH-ahhh-ahhh.

Nia jumped, nearly falling off the ledge. "Toph! People are sleeping!"

"Let 'em wake up!" Toph grinned, feral and free. "Come on. Do it. Scream."

"I... I cannot." 

"Do it!" Toph stomped her foot. "Let it out! Or I'm gonna earthbend this balcony and dump you in the chute!"

Nia looked at the darkness. She felt the pressure in her chest, the grief, the fear, the anger at her family, the anger at herself for crying. She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

"Pathetic," Toph whispered. "Try again, from the gut. Like you're ordering a soldier to sit."

Nia closed her eyes. She pictured the tea cup. She pictured Irina’s cold eyes. She pictured Keres’ icy glare. She pushed the air from her diaphragm.

"AH!" It was a short, strangled shout.

"Better," Toph nodded. "But that was a mouse sneeze, give me a badger-mole roar."

Nia stood up on the railing next to Toph. The wind whipped her hair. She thought about everything she had lost. She thought about the unfairness of it all. She took a massive breath.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

It ripped out of her throat. It was raw. It was ugly. It was loud. The echo thundered back at them.

Nia stood there, panting, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her throat stung. She waited for the punishment. She waited for the cane, but nothing happened, just the wind, and Toph.

Toph was grinning. A genuine, impressed grin. "There she is," Toph whispered. "I felt that one in my toes."

Nia looked at Toph. A small, shaky smile touched her lips. "It... felt efficient."

"It felt real," Toph corrected. She hopped down from the railing. "Go to sleep, Nia. You're loud enough now."

Toph had just turned to walk back inside. "Wait," Nia said.

Toph stopped, but didn't turn around. "What? Gonna scream again? I think you woke up the neighbors already."

"You said I carry my weight like I'm afraid the world will break," Nia said. Her voice wasn't loud, but it had changed, because the tremor was gone. It was replaced by a low, vibrating hum, like the tone of a wire pulled tight. "I don't walk light because I'm scared, Toph. I walk light because I am heavy."

Toph turned around slowly. Her eyebrows knitted together. "What are you doing?" Toph whispered. "The air just got... tight."

Nia didn't answer. She dropped into her stance. It wasn't a standard firebending stance. It was the "Rehab Center" stance. Feet together. Spine rigid. Shoulders locked. She took a breath. The Girl Who Wants to Die. (Left hand). The Girl Who Is Afraid. (Right hand).

She moved her arms. It wasn't a fluid circle like Iroh. It was a sharp, jagged snap. She tore the energy apart inside her stomach.

ZZZZZ-CRACK.

The air on the balcony instantly smelled like ozone and burnt rain. The hairs on Toph’s arms stood straight up. Between Nia’s fingertips, a ball of blinding, pure white lightning thrashed and screamed. It sounded like a thousand birds chirping at once. It lit up the entire mountainside, casting long, sharp shadows against the palace walls.

Nia didn't fire it, she held it, and she stood there, illuminated by the ghostly white glare, her face completely calm, controlling a force that could level a building.

Toph took a step back. For the first time ever, the Blind Bandit looked genuinely rattled. She couldn't see the light, but she could feel the heat, but it was not heat, it was cold. The fire was hot, but this felt like ice that burned. It felt like the air was being sucked out of the world.

"What is that?" Toph yelled over the buzzing sound. "That’s not fire! That feels like... that feels like the sky falling down!"

"It is lightning," Nia said. Her voice was distorted by the energy, sounding hollow and metallic. "White lightning. It requires a total absence of emotion, a total separation of spirit."

She looked at the writhing energy in her hands. It was beautiful. It was lethal; it was her pain given form. 

"I don't need permission to make a sound, Toph," Nia said, looking at the blind girl through the blinding light. "I stay quiet... because this is what happens when I don't."

Nia looked up at the sky. She released the lock. She pointed two fingers at the clouds.

BOOM.

The bolt shot upward. It was a razor-thin line of white destruction. It pierced the clouds instantly. A second later, the thunderclap shook the entire city of Omashu. The delivery chutes rattled. The windows vibrated. It was the loudest sound Toph had ever heard.

Nia lowered her hand. Smoke curled from her fingertips. The silence that followed was heavy.

Toph stood there, mouth open, her bangs blown back by the shockwave. She earthbent the ground to steady herself. "You..." Toph stammered. "You're a lightning bender."

"I am," Nia said, smoothing her robes, returning to the 'Statue.'

"But... Azula felt sharp," Toph said, shaking her head, trying to process the vibrations. "Ozai felt heavy. You... that felt sad." Toph walked up to Nia. She reached out and poked Nia in the chest. "That was the saddest, coldest, scariest thing I have ever felt."

Nia looked down at Toph. "It is the only thing that belongs to me," Nia whispered.

Toph paused. Then, a massive, feral grin spread across her face. She punched Nia in the arm again. Harder this time. "Okay," Toph laughed. "You are definitely cool, but if you ever do that while I'm sleeping, I will bury you in a hole."

"Noted," Nia said dryly.

"Come on, Stormy," Toph yawned, heading back to the room. "Let's go back to bed. I gotta tell Sokka you're a human taser. He's gonna freak out."

Nia stayed on the balcony for one more second, smelling the ozone on her hands. She felt lighter. The secret was out. The ghost had screamed. And the world was still standing.

Toph walked back into the room, leaving Nia alone on the balcony. Nia touched her throat. It was sore. She looked at the moon. For the first time in years, she didn't feel like a ghost. She felt like a girl who had just made a very loud noise, and the world hadn't ended.

She stepped off the railing. Her step was heavy, and she didn't care who heard it.

Chapter Text

Sokka slammed a map onto the table, which was covered in crumbs and ink stains. "Okay, Team Avatar! We head Northeast. We cut through the mountains, avoid the remaining Fire Nation patrols here"—he pointed to a valley—"and we should hit the colony of Yu Dao in three days."

Nia was sipping her tea. She looked pale (the lightning hangover), but her eyes were sharp. She reached out and tapped a spot on Sokka’s map. "That valley is a kill box," she said calmly.

Sokka blinked. "A what?" 

"A kill box," Nia repeated. "The terrain funnels travelers into a narrow pass. My father’s journals from the Marine Corps marked that valley as a primary ambush point for Earth Kingdom rebels."

She pulled a small, leather-bound scroll from her travel bag. She unrolled it. It wasn't a standard map, it was a Logistics Chart. It had currents marked in blue ink, trade winds in red, smuggling routes in black.

"This," Nia said, tracing a coastline, "Is the route the Shoji merchant fleet uses to avoid taxes. It’s longer, but it’s unpatrolled."

Katara leaned in. "Shoji? You went to school there, right?"

"It is where I survived," Nia corrected. "It is the Industrial Heart of the South. Imagine a city where the sky is grey from coal smoke, and the streets are so crowded you don't walk, you flow." She looked at the map, her expression distant. "It is a city of noise. If you can sleep in Shoji, you can sleep anywhere. If you can trade in Shoji, you can trade anywhere."

"My father launched from Shoji, sometimes" Nia continued, her finger tracing a line south across the ocean. "He patrolled the Southern waters." She looked at Katara and Sokka. "He wrote about the ice. He said the Southern lights were the only thing in the world cleaner than white fire. He... he respected your waters."

Sokka looked at the map, then at Nia. The hostility of the "Fire Nation Enemy" was gone. "He respected them?" Sokka asked quietly. "Most Fire Nation soldiers just want to melt them."

"Shareen of House Tang was not most soldiers," Nia said softly. "He was a sailor first. He knew the ocean doesn't care about flags."

Zuko reached out and touched a point on the map deep in the Earth Kingdom, near Ba Sing Se. "And this route?" Zuko asked, his voice rough.

Nia didn't look at the spot. She knew exactly where his finger was. "That is the overland supply line," Nia whispered. "The route many Fire Nation troops took." The route Seraim took, the route Lu Ten took.

"We avoid that line," Nia said, her voice turning cold again. "It is... haunted."

Sokka rolled up his crumb-covered map and shoved it in his bag. "Okay," Sokka said. "We follow the Shoji Smuggler Route. Katara, you're on navigation with Aang. Nia, you're on strategy. Zuko... you carry the bags."

Zuko sighed. "Why am I always the mule? I am the Fire Lord, I have to solve THIS issue. " 

"Because you have the muscles, Sparky," Toph grinned, punching his arm. "And Nia needs to save her energy in case she needs to blow up the sky again."

Sokka froze. "Wait. Blow up the sky? What did I miss last night?

Nia and Toph exchanged a look. "Nothing," they said in unison.

***

The "Shoji Smuggler Route" lived up to its name. It was wet, cold, and dangerously narrow. For two days, Appa navigated above a corridor of jagged sea-cliffs hidden by perpetual fog. The dampness seeped into everything; the sleeping bags, the food, and Nia’s bones.

By the second afternoon, Nia was trembling. She had wrapped herself in three layers of blankets in the back of the saddle, but her teeth were still chattering. Zuko, who was sitting near the front, shifted back. He didn't make a big show of it. He just leaned against the crate next to her. Instantly, a wave of dry, radiating heat washed over her. It wasn't burning, it was like sitting next to a hearth in winter.

Nia stopped shivering. She looked at the back of his head. He was staring straight forward, pretending he wasn't acting like a human radiator. "Inefficient use of chi," Nia murmured, though she leaned closer to him. "Complaining is inefficient use of oxygen," Zuko shot back without turning around.

The wind whipped at Nia’s hair. Her severe bun, which she had pinned perfectly that morning, was losing the war against the damp air. Several dark auburn curls had escaped, framing her face in a messy halo. Nia sighed. She reached into her sleeve to fix it. She pulled out a comb.

It wasn't a standard issue Fire Nation comb. It was old, and was carved from iridescent Mother-of-Pearl, shimmering with pink and silver in the grey light. The handle was etched with tiny, intricate sea-dragons winding around fire-lilies.

Katara, who was sewing a tear in her jacket nearby, looked up. "That’s beautiful," Katara said. "I’ve never seen a Fire Nation design like that. Where did you buy it?"

"My mother gave it to me." Nia said, running her thumb over the smooth surface.

Katara paused. She remembered the conversation in the stone room, the mother who taught Nia to be a stone. "Oh," Katara said carefully. "The one who... taught you the pouring ritual?"

Nia looked at the sea-dragons. "No," she whispered. "The other one."

Zuko turned his head to look at her. He knew about the abuse, but he had never heard about the "Other One."

"Before… everything," Nia said softly, her voice barely audible over the wind. "She used to brush my hair every night. She loved my curls. She said they reminded her of the waves in the paintings my father brought back from his missions." Nia’s eyes grew distant. "She used to sing in the kitchen, and she used to chase Seraim around the garden when he stole her silk fan."

Sokka had stopped looking at the map. He was listening. "She sounds... nice," Sokka said gentle.

"She was," Nia said. She gripped the comb tighter. "But then my father died. And two years later, Seraim died." The warmth vanished from her voice. "And the day after Seraim’s funeral... Grandmother Keres came back to the estate."

Nia looked up at the grey clouds. "Keres told my mother that her grief was 'undignified.' She told her that loving them too much made them soft, and that is why they died. My mother believed her. She looked at me, and she didn't see her daughter anymore; she saw a vulnerability."

Nia held up the pearl comb. "She took this comb, the one my father bought her in the Earth Kingdom, and she put it in a box. She handed me a black ribbon and told me to tie my hair back tight. She said, 'No more waves, Nia. Waves break against the rocks, be the rock.'"

Silence settled over the saddle. Even Appa seemed to fly smoother.

"I keep the comb," Nia finished, tucking it back into her sleeve without using it. She let the curls stay messy. "Because it reminds me that she wasn't always a monster. She is just... haunted, and Keres is the one who locked the door."

Zuko reached out. He covered her hand with his own. His palm was calloused and warm. "We're going to break the lock," Zuko promised.

Nia looked at him, and for a moment, she believed him.

The fog cleared as they descended into the Jinbei Province. Xiawan was not a beautiful city. It was a trade hub built on grey stone and ambition. It sat on the delta of the river, acting as the gateway to the massive colony of Yu Dao further inland.

From the air, Nia didn't look at the architecture. She looked at the cargo, specifically at the piles of crates stamped with the Fire Nation Royal Seal that were stacked haphazardly against the city walls. Some were open, rusting with the rain and the fog.

"That is high-grade steel," Nia whispered to Sokka as they climbed down. "Why is it rusting outside?" 

"Maybe they ran out of warehouse space?" Sokka shrugged. "Or maybe they don't care because they didn't pay for it," Nia noted, her eyes narrowing.

They were greeted by the Governor of Xiawan, a small man named Shu. Governor Shu was a man who wore too much silk for a Tuesday, had a smile that showed too many teeth, and hands that looked like they had never held a shovel in their life.

"Fire Lord Zuko!" Shu bowed low, sweeping his arms wide. "Avatar Aang! Welcome to Xiawan! You arrive just in time. The province is desperate! Our new hospital project is stalled, and we simply cannot continue without the next shipment."

Zuko stepped forward, looking pained. The sight of the rusting steel hadn't registered; he only saw the Governor’s pleading face. "I am sorry for the delay, Governor," Zuko said earnestly, standing tall. "We brought the authorization codes. You will have your supplies."

Governor Shu beamed. "You are a man of honor, Fire Lord. Truly, you are nothing like your father."

Zuko flinched, then stood taller, preening slightly at the validation. "We try to do what is right."

"Excellent," Shu clapped his hands. "If you will just sign the requisition order for the Crystal-Matrix Generators..." He gestured to a scribe holding a scroll. Zuko reached for the brush.

"Don't," Nia said.

Her voice wasn't loud, but it stopped Zuko’s hand in mid-air. Governor Shu’s smile twitched. "I beg your pardon?"

Nia walked past Zuko. She didn't look at the Governor, and just walked straight to the stack of "Hospital Blueprints" on the table. She flipped them open. Her eyes scanned the layout. Lobby. Ward. Power Grid.

"This hospital," Nia said, tracing a line on the paper. "It has twenty beds." 

"It is a modest start," Shu said defensively. 

"It has twenty beds," Nia repeated, looking up, her golden eyes flashing. "And you requested ten Class-A Crystal Generators? That is enough power to light up the entire city of Ba Sing Se."

She dropped the blueprint. "You aren't building a hospital, Governor. You are building a salvage yard. You intend to strip the crystals and sell them."

"Lady Tang!" Zuko snapped, his face flushing with embarrassment. "Stand down!"

"I will not," Nia said, turning to face Zuko, ignoring Shu completely. "Look at the courtyard, Zuko. The steel we sent last month is rusting with the rain and the fog. He doesn't need building materials, he wants assets he can liquidate."

"This is an insult!" Governor Shu shouted, playing the victim perfectly. "I ask for aid to heal my people, and the Fire Nation accuses me of theft? Is this the 'Harmony' you promised, Avatar?"

Aang looked anxious. "Maybe we can talk about this?"

Zuko glared at Nia. The praise from the Governor, You are nothing like your father, was still ringing in his ears, and Nia was ruining it. 

"Nia," Zuko hissed. "We owe them these reparations. Sign the order."

"No," Nia said.

"That is a direct order!"

"It is a bad order," Nia replied, her face returning to that terrifying, beautiful stone mask. "And I do not follow bad orders. Not even from you."

Zuko took a deep breath, trying to control his rage. “Lady Tang, a word in private. Now.”

Zuko grabbed Nia’s arm, gently enough not to bruise, but firm enough to bruise her pride, and dragged her into the antechamber. He slammed the heavy oak door shut. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the small room.

He spun on her, his gold eyes blazing. "What is wrong with you?" Zuko yelled. "You undermined me in front of the Earth Kingdom! In front of the Avatar! You made me look like a fool!"

"I prevented you from being one," Nia shot back, not backing down an inch. She swatted his hand away from her arm and smoothed her silk sleeve. "Someone had to say it! You were nodding along like a bobblehead while that Governor robbed us blind!"

"He is not robbing us! He is asking for help!" Zuko paced the room, running his hands through his hair, his topknot coming loose. "The Fire Nation burned his province, Nia! We owe them!"

"We owe them rebuilding!" Nia stepped into his path, forcing him to stop. She looked up at him, her face flushed with a rare, bright anger. "We do not owe them extortion! If you sign that order, you aren't a diplomat, Zuko, you are a mark!"

"Don't call me that!" Zuko roared, leaning down into her space. "You sound just like the Old Generals! 'Protect the assets.' 'Watch the gold.' These are people, Nia! Not numbers on your damn spreadsheet!"

That hit. Nia went rigid. Her face slammed back into the "Irina Mask", cold, terrifying, and beautiful. 

"I am watching the numbers because the numbers are the only thing that keeps people fed," she said, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "We are running a thirty percent deficit this quarter. If the treasury runs dry, the army doesn't get paid. When the army doesn't get paid, they riot. Do you want a civil war, Fire Lord? Because your guilt is buying one."

Zuko recoiled as if she’d slapped him. "This isn't about guilt. It's about justice. I am trying to prove that we aren't monsters!"

"By letting them bleed us dry?" Nia hissed. "You want to be the Savior so badly. You think if you give away enough gold, it will wash the ash off your hands. It won't."

The room went dead silent. Zuko stared at her. His chest was heaving. "You sound like him," Zuko whispered, his voice trembling with rage. "You sound exactly like Azulon."

Nia’s eyes widened. The hurt flashed across her face for a millisecond before she buried it under layers of ice. "And you," Nia spat, "Are acting exactly like a child who thinks he can buy forgiveness."

She walked to the door. She paused with her hand on the latch. She didn't look back.

"My father respected the ocean because he knew he couldn't control it," Nia said quietly. "If you think you can control history, Zuko, you’re going to drown."

She slammed the door behind her.

Zuko stood alone in the silence. He looked at his hands. They were shaking. He looked at the vase on the pedestal. With a scream of frustration, he hurled a fireball at it, and the vase exploded into dust.

It didn't make him feel any better.

Around 15 minutes later, Zuko walked back into the Governor's office. He looked composed, but his eyes were hard. Governor Shu smiled, holding out the brush. "Fire Lord! I trust you have disciplined your... spirited advisor?"

Zuko looked at Shu. He looked at the gold ring on Shu’s finger, and he looked at the blueprint. He realized he had never actually checked the ventilation shafts.

"Governor," Zuko said, his voice flat. "I would like to inspect the hospital site before I sign."

Shu’s smile faltered. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. "Inspect? But... surely the Fire Lord is too busy for-"

"I have time," Zuko said, crossing his arms. "Show me the twenty beds."

Shu stared at him. The greed in his eyes flickered into panic. "Ah. Well. The site is... currently flooded. Very dangerous. Perhaps we can just sign-"

"No," Zuko said. He picked up the requisition order. He held it up and set it on fire. He watched it burn to ash in his hand.

"Lady Tang was right," Zuko said coldly. "You don't need generators. You need an audit."

He turned and walked out, leaving the Governor sputtering in the smoke.

Zuko found Nia in the courtyard. She was checking the rusting steel beams, making notes on her clipboard. She didn't look up when he approached.

"You were right," Zuko said. It cost him physically to say it. He felt like he was swallowing gravel.

Nia stopped writing. She didn't gloat, or didn't smile. "I know," she said.

"He lied," Zuko muttered, leaning against a crate. "There was no hospital site. He panicked when I asked to see it."

Nia finally looked at him. Her eyes were still guarded, but the ice had thawed, just a little. "Scammers rely on your desire to be a good person, Zuko. They weaponize your honor."

Zuko looked at the ground. "I told you that you sounded like Azulon," he said softly. "I shouldn't have said that."

Nia tightened her grip on the clipboard. "You were angry. Inefficiency in emotional regulation is common during stress."

Zuko let out a short, dry laugh. "You can just say I was being a jerk, Nia."

"You were being a jerk," she agreed instantly.

The sky instantly became darker, and it started to rain. They simply stood there, surrounded by rusting steel. They weren't friends yet, but the rivalry was starting to fade. "We leave for Yu Dao in the morning," Zuko said, pushing off the crate. "And Nia?"

"Yes, Fire Lord?"

"Next time I'm being a mark," Zuko said, meeting her eyes. "Don't ask for permission. Just burn the scroll."

A tiny, barely-there smile touched Nia’s lips, her father’s smile. "Noted."

***

95 AG. Location: The Tang Estate, Fire Nation Capital.

The house was silent. It wasn't a peaceful silence. It was the silence of a tomb. The mirrors were covered in black silk, and the incense from Seraim’s shrine was thick in the air, choking the hallway.

Nia, twelve years old, sat on the stairs. She was wearing white (the color of mourning). Her auburn curls were loose, a tangled mess because no one had brushed her hair in three days. She was holding the Mother-of-Pearl comb. She was waiting for her mother to come out of the bedroom. Her mother, Irina, hadn't eaten, and she hadn't spoken. She just sat by the window, staring at the gate where Shareen and Seraim used to walk in.

Then, the gate opened, but it wasn't Shareen, or Seraim.

A carriage stopped. It was black, lacquered, and terrifyingly expensive, and an old woman stepped out. She didn't use a cane. She walked with a spine of steel. Her hair was pure white, with only a few strands of dark auburn, pulled into a topknot so tight it pulled the skin of her face taut.

Grandmother Keres had arrived.

Nia shrank back against the banister. She remembered Keres from holidays—=, a woman who smelled like mothballs and judgment.

Keres swept into the foyer. She didn't shake the rain off her cloak. She let the water drip onto the expensive rug as if the rug should be honored to catch it. She looked at Nia, but he didn't say "Hello" or "I'm sorry for your loss."

She looked at Nia’s messy hair. She looked at the red, puffy eyes. "Disgraceful," Keres said. Her voice was like dry leaves crushing under a boot.

She walked past Nia, up the stairs. Nia scrambled to follow, clutching the comb.

Keres threw the bedroom door open. Irina looked up. She looked like a ghost: pale, thin, eyes hollow. When she saw Keres, she crumbled. "Mother," Irina sobbed, reaching out. "He is gone. My son is gone."

Keres didn't hug her. She slapped her.

The sound was shocking. Nia gasped from the doorway. Irina froze, her hand touching her cheek, the tears stopping in sheer shock.

"Stand up," Keres ordered. "You look like a peasant."

"My son..." Irina whispered. "My husband..."

"Are dead," Keres stated coldly. "Because they were weak. And do you know why they were weak, Irina?" Keres circled her daughter like a shark. "Because you made them soft. You sang to them. You coddled them. You filled this house with laughter and music, and you made them forget that we are at war. You sent sheep into a wolf's den."

Irina began to shake. "No... no, I loved them..."

"Your love killed them!" Keres hissed. "You made them hesitate. And in war, hesitation is death." She grabbed Irina’s chin, forcing her to look up. "There is one Tang left. Do you want to kill the girl too?"

Irina’s eyes darted to the doorway where Nia was standing. "No," Irina whispered. "Please."

"Then dry your face," Keres commanded. "The mourning period is over. From this moment on, this house is a fortress. There will be no more singing. No more crying. No more weakness."

Keres turned her gaze to Nia. She walked over. She loomed over the twelve-year-old girl. "Give me that," Keres said, pointing to the comb.

Nia clutched it to her chest. "Daddy gave it to me."

Keres didn't yell. She just held out her hand. Irina stood up. Her face had changed. The grief was gone, replaced by a terrifying, blank mask. "Nia," Irina said. Her voice was unrecognizable. It sounded dead. "Give Grandmother the comb."

"Mom?" Nia whimpered.

"Give it to her," Irina said flatly. "It is a frivolous object. It serves no purpose."

Nia’s hands shook. She handed the beautiful pearl comb to Keres. Keres looked at it with disgust. She dropped it into her pocket like it was trash. From her other sleeve, she pulled out a black silk ribbon.

"Sit," Keres ordered.

Nia sat on the floor. Keres didn't brush gently. She raked the brush through Nia’s tangles, pulling hard until Nia’s scalp burned. Nia bit her lip to keep from crying out. Keres pulled the hair back. Tighter, tighter, until Nia’s eyes were pulled slightly at the corners, until every curl was flattened into submission.

She tied the black ribbon. It felt like a shackle.

"There," Keres said, stepping back. "Now you look like a Tang."

She turned to Irina. "She starts lessons in etiquette tomorrow. No more painting. No more music."

Irina nodded slowly. She looked at Nia, at her own daughter, and her eyes were like glass. "Yes, Mother. She will be useful. She will not be... messy."

Keres swept out of the room. Nia sat on the floor, touching the tight, painful bun. She looked at her mother, waiting for a hug. Waiting for the "I'm sorry."

Irina walked to the window. She stared out at the rain. "Go to your room, Nia," Irina said. "And wash your face. Crying is inefficient."

Nia stood up. Her heart broke quietly, without a sound. She walked to her room. She washed her face. And she didn't cry again for five years.

Chapter Text

The conference table in Yu Dao was made of heavy oak, but it felt like it was about to snap under the tension.

On one side: Fire Lord Zuko, Mayor Morishita (who was sweating so much he was practically waterbending), and Nia. On the other side: General Jian of the Earth Kingdom Army. He was a massive man with a beard like a hedge and an ego to match. He was flanked by three other Earth Kingdom bureaucrats who looked at the Fire Nation delegation with undisguised greed.

"The terms are simple, Fire Lord," General Jian said, leaning back and putting his muddy boots up on the empty chair next to him. "Since the Fire Nation colonials are staying in Yu Dao, we require a... tenant fee."

"We already pay taxes to the Earth King," Mayor Morishita squeaked.

"This isn't a tax," Jian grinned, picking his teeth. "This is a 'Safety Tariff.' To ensure the local Earth Kingdom garrison can... protect you. We want sixty percent of the output from the expansive metalworks factory. And control of the harbor."

Zuko clenched his jaw. "Sixty percent? That would cripple the city’s economy. We wouldn't have enough steel to repair the homes."

"That sounds like a 'you' problem," Jian shrugged. "You burned the world, boy. You don't get to haggle over the price of the ashes."

Zuko looked down at the table. The guilt was heavy. He did burn the world. Or his family did. "If it ensures the safety of the citizens..." Zuko began, his voice defeated.

Nia cleared her throat. It was a small, polite sound.

General Jian glanced at her. He looked at her severe bun, her silk robes, and the clipboard. "The tea is cold, sweetheart," Jian grunted, waving a hand at her. "Go fetch a fresh pot while the men talk."

Sokka, sitting in the corner, stopped chewing his dried squid. Katara’s eyes narrowed into slits. Toph whispered, "Oh, he's dead. He's so dead."

Nia didn't move. She didn't blink. She looked at the empty teapot on the table. Then she looked at Jian.

"I am not here to serve you tea, General," Nia said. Her voice was smooth, cool, and utterly devoid of fear. "I am here to prevent you from bankrupting the Earth Kingdom."

Jian laughed. The bureaucrats laughed with him. "Cute," Jian sneered. "The secretary has an opinion. Sit down, girl. This is politics. It’s too complicated for your pretty little head."

Nia walked to the table. She didn't sit. She stood at the head, right next to Zuko. She dropped her clipboard. Clack.

"General Jian," Nia said. "You demanded sixty percent of the metalworks output. The current profit margin of the Yu Dao Metalworks is twelve percent. If you take sixty percent of the gross, the factory will be insolvent in three weeks."

"So?" Jian scoffed. "We'll run it ourselves."

"With what engineers?" Nia asked. "The blast furnaces require a specific mix of coal and firebending to maintain temperature. Your soldiers are earthbenders. If you run those furnaces, they will crack. When they crack, the molten steel will spill. You won't have a factory; you will have a crater."

Jian sat up straighter. "We will find new engineers."

"Who?" Nia interrupted, her pace quickening, her voice sharpening like a blade. "The Fire Nation engineers will leave if the factory closes. The Earth Kingdom engineers are trained in stone, not metallurgy, and regarding the harbor..." She pulled a scroll from her sleeve and slammed it onto the table.

"You want control of the docks? Fine. Do you have the three million gold pieces required to dredge the silt from the riverbed every year?"

Jian blinked. "What?"

"The river silt," Nia said, leaning over the table, looming over him. "The Fire Nation Navy dredges it monthly. If you take the harbor, you take the maintenance cost. Can your garrison afford three million gold? Or will you let the harbor choke, starving the very city you claim to protect?"

The room was silent. Zuko was staring at her. He had stopped feeling guilty and started feeling... something else. Something that made his heart hammer against his ribs.

"You are bluffing," Jian growled, standing up. "You're just a Fire Nation brat trying to scare us."

"I am the Minister of Economics," Nia stated, cold as ice. "I don't bluff. I calculate."

She turned to the trembling Mayor Morishita. "Mayor, what happens if the metalworks close?"

"Un... unemployment hits forty percent," Morishita stammered. "Riots within the week."

Nia turned back to Jian. "You want a riot, General? Because if you seize these assets, you will have five thousand angry, hungry metalworkers, half of whom can bend fire, at your doorstep. And when the Earth King asks why his most profitable colony suddenly stopped paying taxes, who do you think he will blame?"

She poked Jian in the chest with a manicured finger. Hard. "Will he blame the 'Fire Nation Brat'? Or will he blame the General who got greedy and killed the golden goose?"

Jian’s face turned purple. He looked at Zuko. "Fire Lord! Are you going to let this... woman threaten a General of the Earth Kingdom?"

Zuko looked at Nia. He saw the fire in her eyes. He saw the way she held herself like a queen, like a weapon. He remembered her standing on the wagon during the riot. He remembered the lightning on the balcony.

Zuko slowly leaned back in his chair. He crossed his arms. A slow, dangerous smirk spread across his face. 

"I don't know, General," Zuko drawled. "She makes a compelling argument. And frankly..." Zuko looked Jian in the eye. "...I'm terrified of her. You should be too."

Jian looked between Zuko’s smirk and Nia’s icy glare. He looked at the numbers on the scroll. He realized he was outmatched.

"Fine," Jian spat, grabbing his helmet. "Thirty percent. And we keep the harbor patrols."

"Fifteen percent," Nia countered instantly. "And the Fire Nation retains dredging rights. Or we pull the engineers tomorrow."

Jian snarled. He looked like he wanted to earthbend the table into her face. "Twenty," he gritted out.

"Done," Nia said. She picked up the teapot. She poured a cup. She didn't give it to Jian. She took a sip herself.

"Meeting adjourned," Nia said.

***

Jian and his men stormed out. The door clicked shut.

For three seconds, nobody moved. Then, Sokka exploded. "BOOM!" Sokka shouted, jumping on his chair. "THAT WAS AMAZING! Did you see his face? He looked like he swallowed a lemon-banana!"

Toph was cackling, kicking her feet. "His heart rate was going thump-thump-thump and then it just went squish."

Katara walked over and put a hand on Nia’s shoulder. She was beaming. "That," Katara said, "was better than waterbending. You drowned him in math."

Nia let out a long breath. Her shoulders slumped slightly. The adrenaline was fading, leaving her hands trembling just a little. "It was... necessary," she murmured. "Inefficiency annoys me."

Zuko stood up. He walked around the table. He stopped in front of her.

Mayor Morishita was still hyperventilating in the corner ("We survived? We survived!"), so nobody noticed the look Zuko was giving her. It wasn't just gratitude. It was awe.

"You saved the city," Zuko said quietly.

"I saved the budget," Nia corrected, looking down at her clipboard to hide the fact that she was blushing.

"No," Zuko said. He reached out and gently took the clipboard from her hand, forcing her to look at him. "You stood up for us. When I was too afraid to do it myself."

His thumb brushed her hand. The contact was electric. "Thank you, Minister," Zuko whispered.

Nia looked at him, at the scar, at the gold eyes that were looking at her like she was the only person in the room. "You are welcome, Fire Lord."

Sokka popped up between them. "Hey! Who wants to go get dumplings to celebrate not being poor?"

The moment broke, but the tension remained. As they walked out to get food, Zuko walked a little closer to her than necessary, and Nia didn't pull away.

***

Nighttime

The restaurant was loud, steamy, and smelled like garlic and pork. The Gaang took up a large round table in the back. Toph was currently seeing how many dumplings she could fit in her mouth at once (seven), Zuko was sipping tea, looking exhausted but relieved, and Aang and Katara were debating the ethics of meat vs. tofu.

But at the end of the table, a different kind of magic was happening.

Sokka pushed a plate of steamed buns toward Nia. "Eat," Sokka ordered. "You look anemic, you burned a lot of calories yelling at a General, and you're too skinny. I prescribe three pork buns, stat."

Nia picked up a bun with her chopsticks. "I did not yell. I projected." She took a bite. Her eyes widened slightly. "Acceptable structural integrity," she noted. "Good dough-to-meat ratio."

"Right?" Sokka grinned, leaning in. He pulled a crumpled, grease-stained napkin out of his pocket. "Okay, so I’ve been thinking. Your analysis of the blast furnaces? The thermal expansion thing?"

Nia swallowed. "The coefficient of expansion for low-grade iron is higher than stone. It is basic metallurgy."

"Basic to you," Sokka said, excited. He flattened the napkin on the table. It was covered in scribbles. "See, I’m trying to redesign the boiler on the Fire Nation airships. The current model wastes too much steam. If we route the exhaust back through the intake..."

Nia leaned over the napkin. She didn't look at him like he was crazy (which is how Zuko usually looked at him). She looked at the drawing seriously. She dipped her chopstick into the soy sauce and drew a line on the napkin.

"Your intake valve is too small," Nia said, tapping the spot. "If you recycle the steam here, the pressure builds up. Boom. The engine explodes." She drew a second loop. "You need a condenser coil here. Turn the steam back into water, pre-heat it, then feed it back to the boiler."

Sokka stared at the soy-sauce diagram. His jaw dropped. He looked at Nia. "A condenser coil," Sokka whispered reverently. "That’s... that’s genius. That increases fuel efficiency by like, twenty percent."

"Twenty-two percent," Nia corrected, taking another bite of her bun.

Sokka slammed his hand on the table. "FINALLY! Someone who speaks Science!" He pointed an accusing finger at Zuko. "You hear that, Sparky? Twenty-two percent! Do you know how much coal that saves?"

"I assume Nia knows," Zuko muttered into his tea. "Since she's the one who yells at me about the coal budget."

Sokka turned back to Nia, his eyes shining. "Okay, okay, look at this." He flipped the napkin over. "Submarine periscope. I’m trying to use mirrors, but the image gets flipped."

Nia studied it. "Use a prism," she said instantly. "A double-prism array will correct the inversion and magnify the image."

Sokka looked like he was about to cry tears of joy. "Where have you been all my life?" Sokka asked. "I've been surrounded by benders who think 'magic' is the answer to everything. 'Oh, the ship is broken? Just waterbend it!' No! It needs torque!"

"Benders are lazy," Nia agreed, sipping her tea. "They rely on power. They forget that physics is the ultimate law. Gravity does not care if you are the Avatar."

"EXACTLY!" Sokka shouted. "Gravity is undefeated!"

Toph threw a piece of dumpling at Sokka. "Nerd alert."

Sokka ignored her. He leaned in closer to Nia, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "So... that speech you gave to Jian? About the harbor dredging?"

"Yes?"

"Did you actually memorize the dredging budget? Or did you make it up?"

Nia paused. She glanced at Zuko to make sure he wasn't listening. She looked back at Sokka. A tiny, mischievous glint appeared in her golden eyes. "The dredging cost is actually two million," she whispered. "I rounded up to scare him."

Sokka gasped. A slow, wide grin spread across his face. "You did bluff."

"I did not bluff," Nia said, deadpan. "I applied a 'Stupidity Tax' to my calculations."

Sokka threw his head back and laughed—a loud, barking laugh that made the other patrons look over. "A Stupidity Tax! I love it! I'm stealing that."

He raised his tea cup. "To the Stupidity Tax," Sokka toasted.

Nia raised her cup. Her "Irina Mask" was gone. She looked relaxed. She looked like a twenty-year-old girl hanging out with a friend. "To efficiency," Nia replied.

Clink.

As they walked back to the inn, Sokka and Nia were walking side-by-side, well behind the others. Zuko looked back. Sokka was gesturing wildly, explaining the aerodynamics of his boomerang. Nia was nodding, listening intently, and occasionally making a cutting motion with her hand to suggest a sharper angle.

"They're bonding," Katara noted, sounding surprised.

"Great," Zuko sighed, though he was smiling. "Now there are two of them. I'm never going to win an argument again."

"Nope," Toph popped her gum. "You're outnumbered by the Brains, Sparky. Good luck."

***

The night was quiet in the inn. Zuko was asleep, letting out soft, snoring puffs of smoke (a firebending quirk). Katara and Aang were asleep in a bed, and Toph was asleep in a dirt hole she made for herself.

Sokka was awake. He was sitting on a wooden chair outside in the hallway, swearing quietly at a piece of metal. It was the axle of their supply cart. It had cracked on a rock earlier that day. Sokka was trying to hammer it back into shape, but the iron was cold and stubborn.

"Stupid... piece of... junk," Sokka grunted, hitting it with his club. Clang. The crack didn't budge.

"Percussive maintenance will not fuse the iron, Sokka."

Sokka jumped. Nia was standing behind him. She was wearing her sleeping robes (grey silk), her hair actually down for once, a cascade of dark auburn curls that made her look much younger and much less scary.

"I know," Sokka whispered aggressively. "But Zuko is asleep, and I don't want to wake him up just to ask for a light. If we don't fix this axle, we're walking tomorrow."

Nia looked at the axle. She looked at the crack. She crouched down next to him. "You do not need a fire," Nia whispered. "You need a weld. A concentrated point of high heat to melt the fracture line without warping the surrounding structural integrity."

Sokka blinked. "Yes. Exactly. I need a welding torch. Unfortunately, I left my industrial factory in the South Pole."

Nia rolled her eyes. She reached out. She placed her index finger and thumb on either side of the crack in the iron axle.

"Don't look directly at my hand," Nia warned softly. "It will hurt your eyes."

"What?"

Nia took a breath. She focused. She didn't summon the rage (lightning). She summoned the precision. She rubbed her fingers together.

HISSS.

It wasn't the whoosh of Zuko’s fire. It was the sharp, angry hiss of a pressurized gas leak. A tiny, blindingly white flame appeared between her fingertips. It was no bigger than a candle flame, but the heat coming off it was intense. It turned the air instantly dry.

Sokka shielded his eyes, squinting. "Whoa!"

Nia moved her hand slowly along the crack. The iron didn't just get red; it turned glowing orange, then liquid yellow in seconds. She guided the molten metal, fusing the crack shut with surgical accuracy.

"Done," Nia said. She snapped her fingers. The white flame vanished. Smoke curled from the metal. The axle was whole again.

Nia looked up. Sokka was staring at her. His mouth was open. He looked like he had just seen a lemur do calculus.

"You..." Sokka pointed a trembling finger at her. "You're a bender."

Nia pulled her hand back into her sleeve, suddenly self-conscious. She waited for the anger. She waited for the 'Fire Nation monster' accusation. "Yes," Nia said guardedly. "I am."

Sokka stared at the weld. Then he looked at her. "You're a bender... and you didn't tell me?" Sokka whispered. "Do you know how much time we could have saved lighting campfires? I've been using flint like a caveman!"

Nia blinked. "That is your concern? The campfires?"

"And the tea!" Sokka flailed his arms. "And the drying of the socks! Wait." Sokka leaned in, his eyes wide with scientific curiosity. "That fire wasn't orange. Zuko’s is orange. Azula’s is blue. Yours was... white."

"It is a combustion variant," Nia explained, relaxing slightly. "Higher oxygen mix. Cleaner burn. It is... hotter."

Sokka looked at her with pure, unadulterated admiration. "You are a human acetylene torch."

Nia frowned. "I am a Minister."

"You're a secret weapon!" Sokka grinned. He punched her lightly on the shoulder (the Toph move). "Why didn't you tell us? Is it a spy thing? Are you a secret assassin?"

Nia looked at the dying campfire. "My mother," Nia said quietly. "She hated the fire. She said it was messy. Unpredictable. She forbade me from bending after my brother died. So... I learned to make it small. Precise. Invisible." She looked at Sokka. "I am not a warrior, Sokka. I am an administrator, and administrators don't burn things."

Sokka’s expression softened. The "Science Bro" energy shifted into "Younger Brother" energy (even though he was technically younger). He moved to sit next to her on the log.

"Well," Sokka said, nudging her shoulder with his own. "Administrators might not burn things. But Big Sisters fix things." He gestured to the axle. "You just saved us a ten-mile walk. That’s pretty heroic in my book."

Nia looked at him. She felt a strange warmth in her chest that had nothing to do with bending. "Big Sister?" she repeated, testing the word.

"Yeah," Sokka said, picking up a stick and poking the fire. "You keep Zuko from doing stupid stuff. You feed us dumplings. You fix the cart. You're definitely the Big Sister of the group." He paused. "Which is great, because Katara is too bossy, and Toph is too violent. I needed a chill sister."

Nia let out a short laugh. "I have never been described as 'chill', Sokka. I believe 'terrifying' is the preferred nomenclature."

"Terrifyingly chill," Sokka corrected. "Like a glacier. Or a really calm volcano."

He looked at her seriously for a second. "Your secret is safe with me, Nia. But... next time Zuko tries to light a wet log and fails? You gotta let me make fun of him before you fix it."

Nia smiled. A real, genuine smile. "Deal."

****

Year: 96 AG (Nia is 14 years old). 

Location: The Rehabilitation Center. 

Weather: Heavy Rain.

The training yard was mud and misery. Nia stood in the center, shivering in the grey uniform of the inmates. Her hair was already tied in the severe bun, but wisps of curls were plastered to her forehead by the rain.

Opposite her stood Captain Huo Lin. He was a retired Imperial Firebender with a burn scar stretching from his ear to his collarbone. He wasn't cruel, but he was severely ill, and would constantly hallucinate. He looked at Nia not with pity, but with concern.

"Again," Huo Lin barked. "Basic flame arc. Create a sphere of heat. Don't attack. Just warm the air."

Nia gritted her teeth. She stepped forward. She punched the air, trying to summon the familiar orange glow she used to make with her father on the beach. Warmth. Life. Passion.

Nothing happened. Just a puff of grey smoke.

"You are blocked," Huo Lin sighed, lowering his stance. "Your chi is strangling itself. You are trying to force a feeling you do not have."

"I have feelings!" Nia shouted, her voice cracking. "I hate this place! I hate the rain! I hate you!"

"Hate is not warmth," Huo Lin corrected calmly. "Hate is fuel, but it burns cold if you don't let it breathe."

He walked closer. "Your father," Huo Lin said. "Shareen Tang. I served with him in the Southern Fleet. He was a master. He could light a pipe with a spark, or he could vaporize a glacier with a white flash. He had balance."

Nia flinched at the name. "I am not my father."

"Clearly," Huo Lin noted dryly. "He could bend. You are just dancing in the mud."

That did it. The shame, the grief,the memory of Keres locking the comb away, and the memory of the black letter, made something inside Nia snapped. It wasn't a "snap" of anger. It was a "snap" of total emptiness. She didn't reach for warmth. She reached for the void where her family used to be.

She screamed, and she thrust her palm forward.

SILENCE.

There was no roar. There was no explosion. There was a blinding flash of Pure White Light. It tore through the rain, evaporating the droplets instantly into steam. The target dummy, a thick log of ironwood, didn't catch fire. It disintegrated. One second it was there; the next, there was just a hole in the air and a pile of fine white ash on the mud.

The shockwave knocked Nia onto her back. She stared at her hand. It was smoking. Her skin was pale, drained of blood.

Captain Huo Lin stared at the pile of ash. He limped over to it, and touched the ash. It was cold. He looked back at the terrified fourteen-year-old girl.

"Orange fire is life," Huo Lin whispered, more to himself than to her. "It breathes. It feeds." He looked at Nia’s white, trembling hand. "That... that is death. That is pure combustion. It skips the burning and goes straight to destruction."

"I didn't mean to!" Nia sobbed, clutching her wrist. "I tried to make it orange! I tried!"

Huo Lin walked over to her. He knelt in the mud. He didn't help her up. He looked her dead in the eye. "Listen to me, Nia. You cannot make it orange. You have lost the tether."

"What tether?"

"Passion," Huo Lin said simply. "Orange fire requires a spark of passion, of life. You... you are grieving. You are hollow. And when you pull fire from a hollow place, you get this."

He pointed to the ash. "This is dangerous. If you use this in a sparring match, you will kill your partner. If you use this indoors, you will bring the roof down. If you use this without total focus..." He poked her chest. "...you will burn yourself out from the inside."

Nia stared at him, tears mixing with the rain. "So I can't bend? Ever?"

"No," Huo Lin said. He stood up and offered her a hand. "It means you don't bend to fight. You don't bend to play." He pulled her up. "You are not a candle anymore, Nia. You are a loaded cannon. You keep the safety on, and you lock it down, and you only, only, release it if you intend to destroy everything in front of you."

He squeezed her hand. "You must become a master of repression. Not because it is proper, but because it is the only way to keep your friends alive."

Chapter Text

The Central Plaza, Yu Dao. Noon

The signing ceremony was supposed to be peaceful. Mayor Morishita stood at the podium, sweating. Zuko stood behind him, flanked by the Gaang. The crowd was a mix of Earth Kingdom citizens (cheering) and Fire Nation colonials (sullen, arms crossed).

Nia stood to Zuko’s right. She was back in her "Statue" mode—¿, clipboard in hand, posture rigid, face blank. Sokka stood next to her, giving her a subtle thumbs-up. She ignored him, but the corner of her lip twitched.

"And so," Zuko stepped up to the podium. "We begin a new era. We will rebuild together."

"With whose gold?!"

A bottle smashed against the podium, showering Zuko’s boots with glass. The crowd screamed. From the back of the square, a group of fifty men marched in. They weren't wearing the masks of the New Ozai Society. They were wearing tattered Fire Nation military uniforms. They were the veterans—the ones who had lost their jobs when the war ended, the ones Nia had cut from the payroll to save the budget.

The Old Guard.

Their leader was Captain Sen, the man Nia had "reassigned" from the bridge project earlier. He looked tired, dirty, and furious. He lit his fists. "You talk about peace, Fire Lord!" Sen shouted. "But you starve your own soldiers to feed the Earth Kingdom! You fired us! You took our pensions to pay for their bridges!"

Zuko stepped down from the dais, hands raised. "Captain Sen. The treasury is strained. We are trying to find placements for everyone, but-"

"Lies!" Kei roared. "You are a traitor who listens to that... that calculator!" He pointed a burning finger at Nia. "She treats soldiers like numbers! She cut our funding! She is strangling the Fire Nation!"

Sokka reached for his boomerang. Toph cracked her knuckles. "Don't," Nia whispered.

She handed her clipboard to Sokka. "Hold this."

"Nia?" Zuko glanced back. "Stay back. I’ll handle this. He’s hurting."

"He is armed," Nia murmured. "And he is inefficient."

Sen laughed, a desperate, jagged sound. "Look at her! Hiding behind her Lord. Come here, little accountant! Let me show you what real fire looks like!"

Sen didn't wait. He thrust his fist forward. A massive fireball roared toward the dais. It was aiming for Nia, but the blast radius was wide, it would hit Zuko, and the Mayor.

Zuko raised his arms to block—

SNAP.

Nia stepped in front of Zuko. She didn't take a stance. She didn't yell. She just snapped her fingers.

A wall of White Light flashed into existence. It wasn't a shield, it was a vacuum. Sen’s orange fireball hit the white light and simply... vanished. There was no explosion. No smoke. The white fire consumed the orange fire instantly, eating the oxygen so fast the attack suffocated before it could burn.

The silence in the plaza was deafening. Nia lowered her hand. A ring of blinding white plasma curled around her index finger like a wedding band.

"You called me a calculator," Nia said. Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried across the silent square like a bell. "You are correct."

She started walking down the stairs toward the fifty soldiers. The crowd parted. They could feel the heat radiating off her, a dry, chemical heat that tasted like ozone and bleach.

Captain Sen took a step back, his eyes wide. "What... what are you? That’s not fire! That’s..."

"It is combustion," Nia explained calmly, walking closer. "Pure oxygen mix. Approximately three thousand degrees."

She stopped three feet from him. She reached out with her glowing white finger and tapped the steel tip of his spear. HISSS. The steel didn't melt, it sublimated. It turned directly into white gas. The spearhead vanished. The wooden shaft burst into ash in Kei’s hands.

Sen dropped the stick, terrified. "Spirit... she's a dark spirit..."

"I am the Minister of Economics," Nia corrected coldly. "And you are damaging public property."

She looked at the fifty veterans. "If you attack the Fire Lord again, I will not arrest you, nor will I banish you. I will delete you from the census." Her golden eyes narrowed. "And there will be nothing left to bury."

She snapped her fingers again. CRACK. The sound broke the sound barrier. The white flame vanished.

"Go home," Nia ordered. "Your severance checks will be mailed on Tuesday. You may leave."

The veterans didn't fight. They didn't argue. They dropped their weapons and ran.

Nia stood alone in the empty space the rebels had left. She took a deep breath, forcing the Void back down, locking the "Star" away. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably.

She turned around. Sokka looked proud ("My Science Sister!")Toph looked impressed, Katara was shocked, but Zuko... Zuko looked horrified, and Aang looked sick.

Later that night, outside the city limits. Nia sat apart from the group, staring at the unlit fire pit. It was cold, but she refused to light it.

Aang walked over to her. He sat down cross-legged. "Nia," Aang said softly.

"If this is about the budget for Appa’s hay," Nia said defensively, her voice tight, "the answer is still no."

"It's not about the hay," Aang said. He looked at her hands. "It's about the fire… the white fire."

Nia stiffened. "It was effective. The threat was neutralized. No one died."

"It was terrifying," Aang said honestly. He rubbed his arms, shivering. "Nia... fire is life. It breathes. When Zuko bends, I feel warmth, and when Azula bends, I feel cold, but when you bent back there... I felt nothing."

Aang looked at her with sad, grey eyes. "It felt like you opened a door to a place where nothing exists. It’s like... death."

Nia flinched. The mask cracked, and a single tear escaped, freezing on her cheek. "I know," she whispered. "My fire died seven years ago, Avatar. I am just burning the ghost."

Zuko, who had been listening from the shadows, stepped into the light. He looked at Nia. He finally understood everything. The cold hands, the refusal to light campfires, the clipboard she used as a shield. She wasn't cold because she was heartless, she was cold because she was holding a supernova in a glass jar, and she was terrified of dropping it.

He didn't order them to pack, not yet. The night was too dark, and the group was too shaken. Instead, he walked over to the unlit fire pit. He sat down across from Nia. He breathed out a small, controlled stream of fire —orange, warm, and gentle—igniting the wood.

Nia flinched at the sudden light. She scooted back on her log, pulling her sleeves down to cover her hands.

Aang watched her. He held his glider staff like a walking stick, his face knit in deep concentration. 

"You called it 'Combustion'," Aang said softly, breaking the silence. "But firebenders draw from the breath, from the sun. You... you didn't draw from anywhere. You just... deleted the air."

"I did not delete it," Nia said, her voice hollow. "I changed its state."

Aang tilted his head, his arrow glowing faintly in the firelight. "State?"

Nia looked at Katara, who was sitting tensely by the supplies. "Katara," Nia called out, her voice raspy. "May I borrow a sphere of water?"

Katara hesitated, but she bent a small blob of water from her waterskin and floated it over to the center of the circle. Nia held her hand under the water, careful not to touch it.

"Avatar," Nia said, looking into the suspended liquid. "What is this?"

"Water," Aang said. "Liquid."

"And if Katara freezes it?"

"Ice," Aang said. "Solid."

"And if Zuko heats it?"

"Steam," Aang replied. "Gas. The airbenders know gas best. Clouds, mist."

"Correct," Nia said. She looked up at Aang. Her golden eyes were intense, desperate to make him understand that she wasn't a monster, just a consequence of physics. "Solid. Liquid. Gas. The Three States of Matter. Every bender knows these. The world is built on them."

She raised a trembling finger. "But what happens if you heat the gas?"

Aang blinked. "It... it just gets hot."

"No," Nia whispered. "If you heat the gas... if you add enough energy to tear the very air apart... to strip the electrons from the atoms... it changes again."

She took a deep breath. She closed her eyes, found the Void, and opened them. She didn't summon the wall of destruction. She summoned a tiny, microscopic spark of White Fire. It sat on her fingertip, buzzing like an angry hornet. The air around it shimmered violently.

"This," Nia said, staring at the spark, "is the Fourth State. The scientists in Ba Sing Se call it Plasma."

Sokka, who had been pretending to sleep, bolted upright. "Plasma," he whispered, his eyes wide. "That... is a really cool name."

"It is not air anymore," Nia explained to Aang, ignoring Sokka. "I have stripped the air of its structure. I have torn it down to its raw energy. It is ionized gas. It is not 'Death,' Avatar. It is what the stars are made of."

Aang stared at the tiny white star on her finger. He reached out with his senses. He didn't feel the "life" of fire. He felt Energy. Raw, unbridled, cosmic energy. The kind of energy that existed before the Spirits. 

"Lightning," Aang realized, his eyes widening. "Lightning is plasma."

"Yes," Nia nodded. "Azula creates it for a split second. I sustain it, but to sustain it..." She closed her hand, snuffing the spark instantly. The darkness seemed heavier than before. "...I have to be empty. If I have emotion, the plasma becomes unstable. It explodes, so I must be the Void. I must be cold. Always."

Aang sat down next to her. The fear was gone from his face, replaced by a deep, sad understanding. He looked up at the night sky.

"The Sun is plasma," Aang said quietly. "But the Sun also gives life. The Dragons... they breathed fire, but they weren't cold."

"The Dragons are dead," Nia said flatly. "General Iroh killed the last one."

"Energy cannot be destroyed, Nia," Aang said, smiling a small, wise smile. "Only changed. Isn't that the First Law of Thermodynamics?"

Nia looked at him, surprised. "You know the laws?"

"I know that you are stuck in the Fourth State," Aang said gently. "You are all energy and no spirit. You are a star that forgot how to be a sun."

Aang stood up and bowed to her, not as an enemy, but as a teacher. "You understand the physics, Nia. But you need to remember the poetry."

Nia stared at him. She looked at her cold hands. "Poetry is inefficient," she whispered.

"Maybe," Aang shrugged. "But it's warm."

***

Later that night, the camp was silent. Sokka and the others were asleep (or pretending to be). The fire had died down to embers, but Nia was awake. She was sitting on her log, shaking. The use of the White Fire earlier had drained her, so her body temperature had plummeted, and her teeth were chattering softly.

She felt a weight settle over her shoulders. It was Zuko’s heavy red cloak.

Zuko sat down next to her on the log. He didn't say anything. He just sat close enough that his arm brushed against hers. Nia instinctively leaned toward him, seeking the heat source.

"You should fear me," Nia whispered into the dark. "You saw what I did to that spear. I could have done that to a person."

"But you didn't," Zuko said. He poked the fire with a stick, making the orange sparks fly up. "You destroyed the weapon. You saved the man."

"I am a walking industrial accident, Zuko."

"You're my Minister," Zuko corrected.

He turned to look at her. In the dim light, she looked pale and fragile. "Why didn't you tell me?" Zuko asked. "About the plasma? About... the cold?"

"Because you are the Fire Lord," Nia said, pulling his cloak tighter around herself. "You need strength, you do not need a bender who is broken."

Zuko reached out. He took her hand. It was freezing, like holding a piece of ice. He didn't pull away. He sandwiched her hand between both of his, letting his natural firebending heat seep into her skin.

"I don't need a bender," Zuko said quietly. "I have plenty of those. I need Nia."

Nia looked at their hands. The warmth was spreading up her arm, thawing the ice in her chest just a fraction. "This is..." she started to say inefficient. She stopped. "This is pleasant," she admitted softly.

"Get some sleep," Zuko murmured. "We have a long ride tomorrow."

"To the next colony?"

Zuko looked at the fire. He remembered Aang’s words about the star and the sun. "No," Zuko said. "We're done with inspections for a while. We're going to find you some poetry."

***

Two days later…

Location: A roadside clearing near the colony of Shu Jing. 

Objective: Teach the Minister of Economics how to make a "happy flame."

Nia was standing in the middle of the grass. She was wearing:

1. Her under-robes.
2. Zuko’s spare tunic.
3. A thick wool scarf Sokka had lent her.
4. Gloves.

She looked like a very angry, very cold pile of laundry.

Aang bounded around her, full of energy. "Okay, Nia! Forget the Plasma. Forget the math. We're going back to basics! Firebending 101!"

"I am ready," Nia said, her voice muffled by the scarf. "I have reviewed the respiratory requirements for combustion."

"No!" Aang stopped. He put his hands on her shoulders. "No thinking. Feeling. Fire comes from the breath, but also from the gut. It's energy! It's excitement! You have to feel the drive!"

He stepped back. "Okay. First form. The Basic Punch. I want you to punch the air and shout 'HA!'. Make a little puff of orange fire. Just a little one."

Nia nodded solemnly. She widened her stance. She looked like she was preparing to file a very aggressive tax audit. She took a deep breath. She calculated the trajectory. She located the target.

She punched. "Ha," she said, in a flat, monotone voice.

Nothing happened. Not a spark. Not a puff. Just a sad movement of air.

Sokka, sitting on a rock nearby eating a peach, held up a scorecard he had drawn on a leaf. 2/10.

"Okay," Aang said, scratching his head. "The form was... technically perfect. But the shout? It needs more oomph. More passion! Try again! Roar like a Tiger-Dillo!"

Nia frowned. "Aang, screaming does not increase the oxygen saturation of the immediate atmosphere."

"It increases the spirit!" Aang insisted. "Come on! Give me rage! Give me joy! Give me... annoyance at Sokka!"

Nia looked at Sokka. Sokka took a loud, slurping bite of his peach. "Don't mind me. Just watching the master at work."

Nia felt a twitch of genuine annoyance. Okay, she thought. Just a little heat. Just a little orange.

She punched again. "HA!"

FIZZT.

A tiny, microscopic burst of white light popped at the end of her fist like a flash. It made a sound like a mosquito getting zapped. A nearby dandelion instantly wilted from the radiant heat.

"White!" Aang groaned, face-palming. "Nia, you're doing the Plasma Death Thing again!"

"I am trying!" Nia snapped, shivering. "I cannot access the Orange spectrum! My internal regulator defaults to high-efficiency combustion! I am stuck on 'Kill Mode'!"

Zuko, who was leaning against a tree sharpening his swords, tried very hard not to laugh. "She's a prodigy," Zuko deadpanned.

Aang took a deep breath. "Okay," Aang said, changing tactics. "Maybe punching is too aggressive. Let's try control. The Leaf Exercise."

He picked up a dry leaf. He placed it in the center of a stone. "Focus on the leaf," Aang whispered. "Don't burn it. Just... warm it up. Make the edges curl. Gently."

Nia knelt in the grass. She stared at the leaf. Warm the leaf, she told herself. Do not vaporize the leaf. The leaf is a friend. The leaf is... a tax deduction.

She held her hand over it. She focused on "Warmth." She thought about tea. She thought about dumplings. She thought about turtle-ducks.

Her hand started to glow. It wasn't white! It was a dull, reddish color.

"Look!" Katara whispered from the sidelines. "She's doing it!"

Nia’s eyes widened. She was doing it! She was making heat without plasma! She got excited. "I am doing it," Nia whispered. "I am modulating the temperature!"

But then, she thought: Wait, what is the ignition point of a dry leaf? If I exceed 451 degrees Fahrenheit... The math kicked in. The "Void" answered.

FLASH.

CRACK.

The leaf didn't burn. It exploded. A tiny sonic boom knocked Nia backward onto her butt. Where the leaf had been, there was now a perfectly circular scorch mark on the stone, and absolutely no ash. The leaf had been atomized.

Nia sat in the grass, staring at the empty spot. "I failed," she whispered.

Sokka held up a new leaf-card. 10/10 for Destruction. 0/10 for Leaf Safety.

Aang sat down next to her. He didn't look discouraged. He looked thoughtful. "You didn't fail," Aang said kindly. "You just... over-calculated."

"I cannot turn it off, Aang," Nia said, pulling her knees to her chest. "I want to be warm. I hate being cold. But every time I reach for the fire, the Void answers first."

She looked at her hands. "I am a bad bender."

Zuko walked over. He didn't say anything. He sat down on the grass next to her. "You're not a bad bender," Zuko said into her ear. "You're just... specialized."

"I vaporized a leaf, Zuko," Nia mumbled. "It was an innocent leaf."

"It was a traitorous leaf," Zuko assured her. "It deserved it."

Aang watched them. He saw the way Nia instantly relaxed when Zuko was near her. He saw the way the "Void" in her eyes softened. Aang smiled.

"You know," Aang said, standing up. "I think we're done with lessons for today. We can't teach you to be warm, Nia." He pointed at Zuko. "But I think you're finding your own source."

Nia looked at Zuko. "He is an external heat source," Nia argued weakly. "It is a temporary solution."

"For now," Zuko agreed. "But we're still going to the Dragons."

Chapter Text

Zuko was packing the saddlebags. He was determined. "We're going to the Western Air Temple," Zuko said, tightening a strap. "It's a two-week detour, but it's necessary. Nia needs the Masters."

Nia stood by the unlit fire, reading a scroll that a messenger hawk had just dropped off. Her face was pale. Her expression was the "Iron Mask."

"We are not going," Nia stated.

Zuko stopped. "What?"

"We are not going to the ruins," Nia said, rolling up the scroll. "There is a labor strike in the Fire Fountain City. The export of coal has halted. If we do not intervene within the next few days, the capital will lose power."

"Nia," Zuko said, walking over to her. "The coal can wait. You can't wait. You're freezing. You're... you're empty."

"I have functioned this way for seven years, Zuko," Nia said, her voice sharp, defensive. "I can function for another seven." She shivered, despite herself. She shoved her cold hands into her sleeves. "My spiritual health is a luxury. The stability of the Fire Nation is a necessity. It is inefficient to prioritize one person over a nation."

Zuko grabbed her shoulders. "You aren't just 'one person'!"

"I am the Minister of Economics!" Nia snapped, pulling away. "And right now, the economy is failing. We go to Fire Fountain City. That is an order... Fire Lord."

She used his title to build a wall between them. To remind him of his duty.

Zuko stared at her. He looked at Aang, who looked sad but resigned. Zuko clenched his jaw. He hated it. He hated that she was right.

"Fine," Zuko spat. "We go to Fire Fountain City." He stepped close to her, his voice dropping to a furious, protective whisper. "But you stay close to me. If you get cold, you tell me. If you feel the Void slipping, you tell me. You don't hide it anymore. Deal?"

Nia looked at him. She saw the fear in his eyes. "Deal," she whispered.

***
Several days later 

The mood in the city was ugly. The massive statue of Ozai in the center square had been torn down, leaving just a jagged metal stump. Around it, thousands of coal miners and factory workers were camped out. They held signs. They banged hammers against empty oil drums. CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.

Zuko, Nia, and the Gaang stood on the balcony of the Governor's office, looking down at the sea of angry people.

"They aren't just striking," Toph said, her feet flat on the stone floor. "I can feel the vibrations. They’re marching. And they’re dragging something heavy."

"It's a siege ram," Sokka squinted. "They're going to storm the factory gates."

Nia stood next to Zuko. She was wearing her severe black-and-red robes, her hair pulled back so tight it looked painful. Her hands were hidden in her sleeves, shaking with cold. "The Foreman is a man named Goro," Nia recited from memory. "He controls the Union. He is demanding a thirty percent pension increase for veterans. The treasury cannot support it."

"If we don't give them something," Zuko said, watching the crowd, "they're going to burn the city down."

"Then we negotiate," Nia said. "But not from up here."

The Gaang left the governor’s office, and Sokka jumped onto the crate. "HI! HELLO! I'm Sokka! Southern Water Tribe! Engineering enthusiast!"

The crowd confusedly lowered their hammers.

"Okay, so!" Sokka yelled. "Nia told me you guys have the best steel in the world, and Toph told me you have huge coal reserves, and the Earth Kingdom... well, they have a lot of rivers that are really hard to cross."

He held up the blueprint. It was a mess of scribbles (Nia’s precise lines mixed with Sokka’s doodles).

"We don't need tanks," Sokka announced. "We need tracks, and ships."

Goro squinted. "Tracks?"

"A railway!" Sokka beamed. "We're going to build a steam-engine line from Yu Dao to Ba Sing Se in the ports. It’s never been done! It needs millions of tons of steel. It needs coal to run. It needs engineers."

Nia stepped forward. She looked at Goro. "The Earth King has agreed to subsidize the construction costs," she lied smoothly (she hadn't asked the Earth King yet, but she would make him agree later). "It is a ten-year contract. Guaranteed wages. Full benefits."

She pulled a contract scroll from her sleeve. "We re-open Foundry 4. We retrofit it for rails, not armor. You keep your jobs, but you work for transport, not war."

Goro looked at the blueprint. He looked at Zuko’s determined face. He looked at Nia’s cold, calculating eyes. He looked at his starving men.

"Ten years?" Goro asked.

"Guaranteed," Nia said. "Signed by the Fire Lord and the Avatar."

Goro hesitated. Then, he spat on his hand and held it out. "We build the train."

***

Later

Nia was on the floor. Her vision was tunneling. She tried to calculate the rate of heat loss, but her brain was stuttering. Core temp... ninety-five... ninety-four... She curled into a ball, trying to preserve what was left.

The door didn't bang open. It opened quickly and purposefully. Katara walked in.

She took one look at Nia, curled on the floor, shaking, lips turning blue, and her "Protector Mode" engaged instantly. She didn't run over in a panic. She moved with efficient speed.

"Sokka!" Katara yelled over her shoulder. "Get the kindling. Now!"

She slammed the door shut to block the draft. She didn't ask "Are you okay?" because the answer was obviously "No." Instead, she got out her, heavy Water Tribe parka from her bag.

"Arms up," Katara ordered, dropping to her knees next to Nia.

"I-I-inefficient," Nia stuttered, trying to push the blue fur away. "You w-will be c-cold."

"I'm from the South Pole, Nia," Katara snapped, forcing Nia’s stiff arms into the sleeves. "I consider this weather 'balmy'. Now put it on."

She zipped the heavy coat up to Nia’s chin. It fit her perfectly. Nia looked like she was drowning in blue wolf-fur, but it was warm. It smelled like sea salt and dried plums.

Katara didn't stop there. She turned to the cold, empty fireplace. Nia flinched. "I c-can't light it. I c-can't..."

"I know you can't," Katara said. "That's why I'm doing it."

Katara pulled a piece of flint and steel from her pouch. Clack. Clack. Spark. She didn't use bending. She used the friction and skill she learned surviving fourteen years in a frozen wasteland. Within thirty seconds, the tinder caught. Within a minute, a roaring orange fire was crackling in the hearth.

Katara turned back to Nia. She uncorked her waterskin. She bent a globe of water, holding it near the fire until it was steaming hot. Then, she covered her hands in the warm water, making them glow with a soft, healing blue light.

"Give me your hands," Katara commanded.

Nia hesitated. "They are... cold. Like the Void."

"Nia," Katara said firmly. "I have healed frostbite on warriors twice your size. Give me your hands."

Nia reached out from the massive sleeves. Katara clasped them. The warm, healing water enveloped Nia’s frozen fingers. The heat didn't just sit on the skin; it penetrated deep into the bone, chasing the "Void" away.

Nia let out a long, shuddering breath. Her shoulders dropped. "You are..." Nia whispered. "You are very efficient at survival, Katara."

Katara smiled, a small, tired, but genuine smile. "You don't live in an igloo without learning how to keep people warm."

She rubbed Nia’s hands, circulating the blood. "Aang told me," Katara said quietly. "About the white fire, about why you don't bend."

Nia looked down at the floor. "I am a hazard. I almost killed the Foreman today. I wanted to."

"But you didn't," Katara said. She let the water dissipate and reached up to pull the hood of the parka over Nia’s messy hair. "You held back. Do you know how hard that is? Even Aang struggles with restraint when he's angry."

Katara sat back on her heels, looking at the fierce Fire Nation Minister huddled in her Water Tribe coat. "You aren't a hazard, Nia. You're just... hurt." Katara poked the heavy wool of the coat. "And until you figure out how to fix that internal furnace of yours? You can borrow the coat. Blue looks good on you anyway."

Nia touched the soft fur of the hood. She looked at the fire Katara had built with her bare hands. She looked at the Waterbender who had every reason to hate the Fire Nation, but was currently saving the life of one of its ministers.

"Thank you," Nia whispered.

Katara moved to sit next to her against the wall, leaning their shoulders together. "Just don't tell Sokka I gave you the good coat. He's been trying to steal this one for months."

Nia let out a tiny, chattering laugh. "I will... file it... under 'Diplomatic Gifts'."

The fire Katara had lit was crackling steadily. Nia was still drowning in the blue parka, her knees pulled up to her chest, her body temperature finally stabilizing. Katara was staring into the flames, a soft, dreamy look on her face that made Nia immediately suspicious.

"You know," Katara started, twirling a piece of hair. "Aang was really worried about you earlier. He’s... he’s really sensitive to other people’s energy."

"He is the Avatar," Nia said, sipping the warm water Katara had given her. "It is his job to monitor spiritual fluctuations."

"It's not just his job," Katara sighed, leaning her head back against the wall. "It’s just him. He cares so much. Even when the world is ending, he stops to look at a clouds or play with Momo. He has this... light. It’s not the glowing eyes kind. It’s just... Aang."

Nia stiffened. She recognized this tone. It was the tone girls in Shoji used before they started writing bad poetry. "Katara," Nia warned. "Do not."

"He's just so cute when he gets excited about the wind," Katara continued, ignoring her. "And the way he looks at me? Like I'm the only waterbender in the ocean?" Katara blushed, covering her face with her hands. "Ugh, I think I love him so much I’m going to explode."

Nia physically recoiled. Her face scrunched up as if she had just bit into a lemon. "Oh," Nia groaned. "Oh, that is repulsive."

"It is not!" Katara laughed, nudging her.

"It is inefficient!" Nia argued, looking horrified. "You are describing a dopamine overdose. Your judgment is compromised. You are letting a singular variable—'cuteness'—dictate your tactical alignment."

"It's not tactical, Nia! It's romance!" Katara beamed. "Haven't you ever looked at someone and just felt like... like your stomach was doing flip-flops?"

"No? That is a symptom of indigestion," Nia stated flatly.

"You are hopeless," Katara giggled.

Nia rolled her eyes, but she looked at Katara sideways. Despite the cringe—despite the absolute horror of hearing about the Avatar’s "cuteness"—Nia felt a strange warmth in her chest.

For four years, the world had looked at Aang as a weapon. A savior, a god, but Katara? Katara just saw a boy. She saw the person behind the power.

"It is... good," Nia admitted quietly, looking at her tea.

"What is?"

"That you see him," Nia said. "Everyone else sees the Bridge Between Worlds, or like some sort of god. You see the young monk who likes penguins and playing with lemurs." Nia tightened the coat around herself. "Power is heavy, Katara. It is cold. If he is to survive being the Avatar... he needs someone who reminds him that he is also just a human."

Katara’s smile softened into something gentler. "Yeah. That's the plan."

Then, Katara’s eyes narrowed. A mischievous glint appeared. "Speaking of power being heavy and cold..." Katara turned to face Nia fully. "You and Zuko."

Nia glared at her. "I do not know what you are referencing."

"Oh, please," Katara scoffed. "The cuddles? The way he looks at you when you're doing math? The way he gives you his clothes?" She poked the giant blue parka Nia was currently wearing. "You're literally wearing my coat right now, and I bet you wish it was his."

"This is a thermal necessity!" Nia squeaked, her face heating up. "Zuko is... he is a convenient heat source! He generates thermal energy at a rate of-"

"Blah blah blah," Katara interrupted. "You like him."

"He is the Fire Lord! I respect him!"

"You like his face."

"His face is... symmetrical?" Nia stammered. "And the scar adds... character!"

Katara threw her head back and laughed. "Symmetrical! Oh, Spirits, you two are perfect for each other. One represents the Sun, the other represents a Spreadsheet."

Nia groaned and pulled the hood of the parka down over her face to hide. "I hate this conversation," came her muffled voice from inside the fur. "I am going back to the Void. It was quieter there."

"No Void," Katara said, patting Nia’s hooded head. "You're stuck here with human feelings, Minister. Get used to it."

Nia glared at Katara like an angry cat, but simply made herself more comfortable in the parka, letting the heat travel through her body. 

Nia respected Zuko. At first, she did think he was extremely immature and arrogant for being the Fire Lord, but then remembered that his father was way worse, and Zuko at least wanted to genuinely fix the damage the nation has caused. In the end, Zuko was just a young man trying to rule a nation that has practically destroyed the world for a century because of ideology. He was doing his best, but he just needed grounding. Additionally, Zuko was... good to her, and actually respected her, unlike her own family.

Nia closed her eyes as sleep took over, and the warmth of the hearth spread over her body.

***

Year: 101 AG (Nia is 19). Location: The Great Hall of Shoji University. Event: The Inter-Collegiate Economic Summit (Final Round).

The hall was packed. On one side, students in the red-and-gold of the Fire Nation. On the other, students in the green-and-gold of Ba Sing Se University. The war had technically ended a year ago, but in this room, it was still raging.

At the podium stood Lee-Sung, the lead debater for Ba Sing Se. He was older, smug, and wore the robes of the Upper Ring. He had spent the last ten minutes delivering a passionate, flowery speech about the "Moral Debt" of the Fire Nation.

Nia sat at the opposing table. She was wearing the stark, simple uniform of Shoji. Her hair was in a severe bun, and her face was blank. She was tapping her quill against a stack of papers, perfectly in time with the ticking clock.

"And therefore," Lee-Sung boomed, gesturing to the crowd, "The Fire Nation must agree to a one-hundred percent tariff on all industrial exports! It is the only way to pay for the scars on our land!" He turned to Nia, a smirk playing on his lips. "But I suppose I am boring my opponent. I know math can be... taxing... for the fairer sex. Perhaps you would prefer we debate the price of silk ribbons? Or proper tea-serving etiquette?"

The Ba Sing Se side laughed. A few Shoji students bristled, but most looked nervous. Lee-Sung was a charismatic bully.

Nia stopped tapping her quill. She didn't look angry. She looked at Lee-Sung the way a butcher looks at a side of beef: finding the joints.

She stood up. She walked to the podium. She didn't bring notes. She just spoke.

"Mr. Lee-Sung," Nia said. Her voice was quiet, crisp, and cold. "You propose a one-hundred percent tariff on Fire Nation exports. Let us run that simulation."

She held up one finger. "If you tax our steel at one hundred percent, the Fire Nation economy collapses within three months. Our currency, the Gold Piece, becomes worthless."

She held up a second finger. "The Earth Kingdom is the largest importer of Fire Nation machinery. Specifically, the automated plows used in the Agrarian Zone. If our economy collapses, we cannot manufacture parts. Your plows break. You cannot harvest."

She held up a third finger. "The Earth Kingdom relies on Fire Nation coal for heating. If you cannot pay us because our currency has collapsed, the shipments stop. Winter is coming."

She leaned over the podium. The hall was dead silent. "So, your proposal results in: hyper-inflation for us, famine for you, and freezing to death for the elderly in the Lower Ring. It is a suicide pact wrapped in moral grandstanding."

Lee-Sung sputtered. "That’s... that’s speculation! You're just a girl, what do you know of—"

"I am not finished," Nia cut him off. She didn't shout. She just sharpened her voice like a knife.

"You mentioned my gender," Nia said, walking out from behind the podium to stand center stage. "You suggested I debate 'household' topics. Let us discuss the household." She turned to the judges. "The average Earth Kingdom household spends forty percent of its income on imported goods. Under my opponent's plan, that cost doubles. He claims to speak for the victim, but his policy would starve the very people he claims to protect."

She turned back to Lee-Sung, who was sweating. "You mistake volume for validity, Mr. Lee-Sung. You mistake emotion for economics, and you mistake me for someone who cares about your opinion."

She took a step closer to him. Her golden eyes seemed to glow. "You called me a girl. I am a student of Shoji University. I scored perfect marks in Macroeconomics, Logistics, and Industrial Theory. You are repeating talking points from a pamphlet you read in a tea shop."

She pointed to the exit. "Sit down. You are inefficient, and you are wasting my time."

Lee-Sung opened his mouth, closed it, and looked at the judges. The Head Judge (an older Fire Nation professor) looked at Lee-Sung. "She... she did destroy your entire premise, young man."

Lee-Sung slumped into his chair, defeated and humiliated. The Shoji side erupted.

Nia didn't smile. She didn't wave. She walked back to her table, sat down, and organized her papers. "Next question," she said.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

Around six weeks later…

The tea in Republic City tasted different. It was younger, less steeped in tradition, and slightly gritty from the construction dust that coated everything. Nia preferred it.

They had been back in the city for three weeks. The "Operation Big Bridge" was a success. The steel was moving, the strikes had stopped, and Sokka had officially promoted Nia to "Honorary Boomerang Tosser" (a title she politely declined).

Nia sat in the temporary Council office, organizing the trade manifests. It was peaceful. Then, Zuko walked in.

He wasn't wearing his working tunic. He was holding a scroll sealed with the heavy, black wax of the Fire Sages. He looked like he had just swallowed a rock.

"Bad news?" Nia asked, not looking up from her ledger. "Did Sokka crash another airship?"

"No," Zuko said. His voice was tight. "It’s a summons." He dropped the scroll on her desk. "The High Council of Sages is convening an emergency budget hearing. They want to audit the Harmony Restoration Project."

Nia picked up the scroll. She scanned the archaic, flowery calligraphy. ...Concerns regarding the reallocation of military assets... requiring immediate explanation from the Fire Lord...

"They are stalling," Nia said, rolling the scroll back up. "They see money leaving the military and going to the Earth Kingdom, and they are panicking. It is a power play." She handed it back. "Draft a response. Tell them the audit will happen next quarter. Cite Imperial Decree 42-B regarding wartime reconstruction delays."

"I can't," Zuko said. He walked to the window, looking out at the bay. "They invoked the Rite of Szeto. If I don't appear in person to defend the budget, they have the legal right to freeze the treasury."

Nia froze. Her quill hovered over the paper. "The Rite of Szeto?" she repeated. "That hasn't been invoked since the reign of Sozin."

"They're scared, Nia," Zuko said, turning to face her. "The Old Guard is scared that I'm giving away their power. They want to drag me back to the Capital and yell at me until I fold."

He took a step toward her desk. "I need my Minister of Economics."

Nia went very still. The temperature in the room seemed to drop. "You want me to draft a speech?"

"No," Zuko said. "I want you to come with me."

Nia stared at him. The Capital. The words echoed in her head like a slammed door. She hadn't been back to the Capital since she left for Shoji University four years ago. She hadn't stepped foot in the Tang Estate since the day she packed her bags and ran from the silence when she was just 17 years old.

"No," Nia said. It wasn't a negotiation. It was a reflex.

"Nia, please," Zuko stepped closer. "I can't do this alone. General Shinu will be there. The Sages will be there. They speak in circles. They use history as a weapon. I need someone who can cut through the noise." He gestured to her ledgers. "You know the numbers, you know the laws, you’re the only one who scares them."

"I said no," Nia said, her voice rising slightly. She stood up, putting the desk between them. "I am a Republic City Councilwoman now. My jurisdiction is here."

"You are a Fire Nation subject!" Zuko argued, his stress bleeding into anger. "And I am your Fire Lord asking for help!"

"And I am telling you that I cannot go back there!" Nia snapped. Her mask cracked. The cool, collected diplomat vanished. "I cannot go back to that city, Zuko. I cannot go back to that house."

Zuko paused. He saw the panic in her eyes—the same panic he saw on the balcony in Omashu. "Nia," he said, softening his voice. "It’s just a hearing. We’ll be in the Palace. You don't have to go to the Tang Estate."

"It is all the same!" Nia whispered. She gripped the edge of the desk so hard her knuckles turned white. "The Capital is not a city to me. It is a museum of everything I lost. It is my grandmother waiting for me to fail. It is my mother telling me not to exist." She looked down at her hands, the hands that could make white fire , but shook when she poured tea. "Here, I am Nia. There... I am just the ghost in the corner."

Zuko watched her. He understood. He hated the Capital too. He hated the whispers, the old portraits of Ozai, the empty halls where his mother used to sing. He walked around the desk, not touching her. He stood close enough to offer warmth, but far enough to give her space.

"I hate it too," Zuko admitted quietly. Nia looked up at him. "Every time I walk into the throne room, I feel like I'm five years old again," Zuko said. "I feel like my father is about to burn me. I feel like I'm an imposter wearing a crown that’s too big."

He looked her in the eye. "That’s why I need you."

Nia blinked. "You are the Fire Lord," she whispered. "You defeated Ozai. You are not scared."

"I am terrified," Zuko corrected. "Every single day. I'm terrified I'm going to turn into him. I'm terrified I'm going to fail." He reached out, offering his hand. "When I'm with Aang and the others, I feel brave. But they can't come with me this time. This is Fire Nation politics. Sokka can't help me… Katara can't help me."

He looked at her, his golden eyes pleading. "You are the only one who knows what it’s like. You’re the only one who knows how heavy the silence is. Come back with me, Nia. Not as a subject. As... as a companion. We face them together, we scare them together, and then we leave."

Nia looked at his hand. She thought of the "Tea Room". She thought of the black ribbon. Then she thought of the "Stupidity Tax", and she thought of the way Zuko had warmed her hands before.

She was terrified of the Capital. but the thought of Zuko walking into that pit of vipers alone... that terrified her more for some reason.

"One week," Nia whispered. 

Zuko exhaled. "One week."

"And I do not go to the Tang Estate," Nia stipulated, her voice trembling. "I stay in the Palace." 

"You can have the guest suite next to mine," Zuko promised. "I'll post guards. Your family won't get within a mile of you."

Nia took a deep breath. She reached out and took his hand. It was warm. 

"Inefficient," she muttered, grabbing her satchel. "But acceptable."

***

It was the brink of dawn, and the mist was heavy on the water. Two ships sat at the docks, facing opposite directions. To the South: A Water Tribe cutter, bound for the South Pole, and to the West: The Royal Fire Nation Sloop, bound for the Capital.

The Gaang stood on the pier in a huddle. The mood was heavy. They had spent months together, fighting riots, sliding down chutes, and eating questionable rock candy. Now, the band was breaking up again.

Sokka was taking it the hardest. He was clinging to Nia’s sleeve. "Who is going to check my math?" Sokka wailed. "Zuko thinks 'pi' is a type of dessert! The Council is going to eat me alive!"

Nia carefully peeled Sokka’s fingers off her robe. "I left a binder in your bag, Sokka," she said calmly. "It contains conversion charts for currency, a list of acceptable tariff rates, and a diagram explaining why you cannot build a bridge out of 'hope and glue'."

Sokka sniffed, wiping his nose. "You made me a binder? That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me." He pulled her into a crushing hug. Nia stiffened for 0.5 seconds, then awkwardly patted his back. 

"Structural integrity... compromising..." she wheezed.

"Love you too, Science Sister," Sokka grinned, letting her go. "Don't let the Fire Sages turn you back into a statue. If they try, just hit them with the 'Stupidity Tax'."

Toph stepped up next. She didn't hug, she punched Nia in the arm. Hard. "Ow," Nia said, rubbing the spot. "That was unnecessary."

"That was a reminder," Toph corrected, crossing her arms. "You’re going back to the snake pit. Don't start walking light again. Walk heavy, make them hear you." She turned her blind eyes toward Zuko. "And you, Sparky, if you let her freeze, I will sense it from the South Pole, and I will earthbend a rock into your shoe. A sharp one."

Zuko managed a weak smile. "Understood, Toph."

Aang bowed to them. "The South Pole is going to be great! I haven't seen Hakoda or Gran-Gran in forever, and you guys..." He looked between Zuko and Nia. He saw the tension in their shoulders. "Just remember," Aang said softly. "The Capital is just a place. It doesn't have power over you unless you give it power."

"Easy for you to say," Zuko muttered. "You didn't grow up there."

Finally, Katara stepped forward. She was wearing her heavy blue parka, ready for the ice. She looked at Nia, who was wearing the stiff, high-collared black robes of the Fire Nation Court. The contrast was stark.

"Nia," Katara said. She reached out and took Nia’s cold hands. "I know you're scared."

"I am efficient," Nia deflected automatically.

"You're terrified," Katara corrected gently. "But remember what we talked about? About the comb? About the waves?" Katara squeezed her hands. "You aren't alone anymore. You have a tribe. Even if we're at the South Pole... we're still your tribe."

Nia felt a lump form in her throat. She swallowed it down. "Thank you, Katara, for... the heat."

Katara smiled. She leaned in and whispered so only Nia could hear. "And you're going to be on a boat with Zuko for four weeks. If you two don't figure out your 'thermal necessity' situation by the time you dock, I'm going to waterbend you both into the ocean."

Nia turned bright red, but she did not know why. "That is... highly inappropriate."

"Bye!" Katara laughed, running up the gangplank to join Aang.

The Water Tribe ship left first. Zuko and Nia stood on the dock, watching their friends disappear into the fog. Sokka was waving frantically until he was a speck.

When the ship was gone, the silence rushed back in. It was heavy. It was oppressive. It was just the two of them now.

Zuko turned to look at the massive, steel-plated Fire Nation ship. It looked like a fortress. "Four weeks," Zuko murmured.

Nia tightened her grip on her satchel. She looked at the ship that would take her back to the nightmare. "Four weeks," she repeated.

Zuko looked at her. He saw the mask starting to slide back into place, the "Iron Mask" she wore to survive his country. He hated it.

"Nia," Zuko said. She looked at him. "We aren't in the Capital yet," he said firmly. "We're on a boat, my boat. The rules of the Court don't apply until we touch the ground."

He held out his hand. "Come on. I bet the tea is terrible. Let's go fix it."

Nia looked at his hand. She took it. "The tea is likely sludge," she agreed.

They walked up the gangplank together, leaving the freedom of the Republic behind, sailing toward the dragon's mouth.

***

THE FOUR WEEK BONDING TRIP 

Week 1: The Calibration

Location: The Royal Cabin (Zuko’s). Time: 2:00 AM.

The ship was cutting through the northern currents. It was freezing. Zuko woke up. He didn't know why. He sat up, listening. The ship creaked. The engine hummed. Then he heard it. The soft, rhythmic click-click-click of footsteps pacing in the corridor outside his door.

He got up, pulled on his trousers, and opened the door. Nia was there. She was wrapped in three blankets, shivering so hard the fabric was vibrating. She looked like a miserable caterpillar.

"Nia?" Zuko whispered.

She froze mid-pace. "I am generating kinetic energy," she chattered. "The ambient temperature in my cabin is... suboptimal."

"It's freezing," Zuko corrected. "Come in."

"That is inappropriate," Nia argued, though she took a step toward the door.

"You're turning blue," Zuko countered. "And I'm the Fire Lord. I declare it appropriate. Get in here."

He ushered her inside. His cabin was warm—he naturally heated the air just by breathing. Nia sighed, the tension leaving her shoulders instantly. She sat on the rug near the small coal stove.

Zuko sat on the edge of the bed. He watched her huddled form. "You can't do this every night, Nia. You need sleep."

"I cannot sleep when my core temperature drops below ninety-seven degrees," Nia mumbled from inside the blanket fort. "The Void takes over. It is... loud."

Zuko hesitated. Then, he made a decision. He grabbed his pillow. He threw it on the floor next to her. He grabbed his duvet. He dragged it off the bed. He sat down next to her on the rug, wrapping the heavy duvet around both of them.

"Better?" he asked, leaning his shoulder against hers.

Nia stiffened for a second, then melted. She leaned her head on his shoulder. "You run at one hundred degrees," she whispered. "It is efficient."

"Shut up and sleep," Zuko murmured, resting his head on top of hers.

They slept on the floor. By morning, they had migrated. Nia was curled up against his chest, her cold feet tucked between his calves. Zuko had his arm thrown over her waist, anchoring her to the earth. The Steward who brought tea at 7:00 AM took one look, smiled, and quietly closed the door.

Week 2: The Variables

Location: The Upper Deck. Activity: Pai Sho.

The sun was out, but the wind was brisk. Zuko and Nia sat across a small table. Zuko placed a tile. "The White Lotus gambit," he announced proudly. "Uncle taught me. It emphasizes flexibility."

Nia looked at the board. Her eyes darted back and forth. "If I move the Wheel to C-4," she muttered, "I disrupt your harmony radius. If I follow with the Knot to D-8, I sever your connection to the center."

She moved two tiles. Click. Click. "Checkmate," she said. "Or whatever the Pai Sho equivalent is. Total structural collapse."

Zuko stared at the board. "You... you trapped my Lotus in three moves. How?"

"You play with philosophy, Zuko," Nia said, sipping her tea (which Zuko had personally brewed to ensure it wasn't sludge). "I play with probability. Uncle Iroh plays to teach. I play to win."

Zuko groaned and put his head on the table. "You're ruthless."

"I am efficient."

Zuko turned his head, resting his cheek on the wood so he could look at her. The wind was blowing her hair. For once, she hadn't pinned it back. The auburn curls were wild, catching the sunlight. She looked... relaxed. She looked young.

"What do you like?" Zuko asked suddenly.

Nia blinked. "I like winning."

"No," Zuko said. "I mean... outside of work. Outside of survival. What do you like? Sokka likes meat, Toph likes fighting, Katara likes rain. What does Nia like?"

Nia stared at the Pai Sho tile. She searched her memory. She sifted through the years of silence, the years of studying, the years of fear. What did she like?

"I like maps," she said softly. "I like seeing how the world connects." She paused. "And... I like the quiet. Not the scary quiet. The quiet after a storm, when the air smells clean."

Zuko smiled. "I like feeding the turtle-ducks," he admitted. "And I like theater, even the bad plays, especially the bad plays."

Nia’s lip twitched. "You enjoy bad theater?"

"It's funny!" Zuko defended. "When the actors forget their lines? It's the only time the world feels unscripted."

Nia looked at him. "I like this," she whispered, almost too quiet to hear.

"This?"

"The boat," Nia said. "The middle of nowhere. No one wants anything from us here."

Week 3: The Archive of Silence

Location: The Ship’s Library (Small, cramped, full of maps).Time: Late Night.

Zuko was stressed. The audit was looming. He was pacing the small room, muttering to himself, rehearsing arguments for General Shinu. "If he brings up the tank reserves, I'll cite the... the..." He rubbed his face aggressively. "Ugh. I forgot the statute number."

"Statute 45-C," Nia said from the corner. She was sitting on the floor, surrounded by scrolls. She wasn't looking at him. She was cross-referencing grain imports. She was wearing her sleeping tunic with Zuko’s red cloak draped over her shoulders like a tent.

Zuko stopped pacing. He looked at her. She looked so... comfortable. Usually, Nia stood like a soldier. But here, on the floor, buried in paper, she looked soft. She bit her lip as she read a particularly complex line.

Zuko felt a weird thump in his chest. Indigestion, he told himself. Probably the sea rations.

"You should sleep," Zuko said, his voice coming out a little rougher than intended.

"I am working," Nia mumbled, not looking up. "The grain yield in the Shu Jing province is down eight percent. If we don't adjust the export quotas, the farmers will starve by winter."

Zuko walked over. He sat down on the floor opposite her. "Nia," he said. She looked up. Her eyes were tired, rimmed with red, but golden and sharp. "Why are you doing this?" Zuko asked. "You aren't even getting paid for this trip."

Nia paused. She twirled her quill. "Because efficiency saves lives," she recited the old lesson.

"No," Zuko said softly. "That's the Council answer. Why are you doing this? For me?"

Nia looked at the candle flame between them. "Because," she whispered, "When you look at the spreadsheet, Zuko... you don't see numbers, you see the farmers." She met his eyes. "Most leaders see gold, you see people. It is... statistically rare. It is worth protecting."

Zuko stared at her. The candle flickered. The light danced on her face, highlighting the curve of her jaw, the dark lashes. He suddenly felt very warm… and very panicked.Stop looking at her, his brain screamed. She is your Minister. She is scary. She almost blew up a village.

However, Zuko couldn't look away. "You're..." Zuko started. He cleared his throat. "You're good at this… the math."

"I know," Nia said simply. She reached out to grab a new scroll. Her hand brushed his on the floor; current, static. Both of them flinched and pulled back.

"Static electricity," Nia said quickly. "Dry air."

"Right," Zuko squeaked. "Static."

Week 4: The Empty Kata

Location: The Upper Deck. Weather: Overcast. Windy.

Zuko was restless. He needed to burn off the energy (and the weird feeling in his chest). He was running through all advanced firebending forms on the deck. Roar. A plume of orange fire blasted into the sky.

He turned and saw Nia watching him. She was bundled in the blue parka. "Sorry," Zuko panted, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Did I wake you?"

"No." Nia walked onto the deck. She watched him with a critical eye. "Your elbow is too low on the last extension. You are exposing your ribs."

Zuko frowned. "It's the standard form. My elbow is fine."

"It is inefficient," Nia stated. "If I were fighting you, I would have stabbed you in the liver."

Zuko crossed his arms. "Easy to say from the sidelines. Do you know the forms?"

"I know all of them," Nia said simply.

Zuko blinked. "You said you learned knife tricks from Seraim."

"I was a daughter of House Tang, Zuko," Nia said, her voice devoid of arrogance, stating it like a fact. "Before my fire... changed... I was a prodigy, thanks to my father. I mastered all styles by age eleven."

Zuko stared at her. "Show me."

Nia hesitated. She looked at her gloved hands. Then, she shed the heavy parka. Underneath, she wore her simple training gear. She stepped into the center of the deck. She closed her eyes. She took a breath.

She moved.

It wasn't the rigid, jerky movement of the "Statue." It was water; it was wind. She flowed into the Dancing Dragon form. Her kicks were high and precise. Her punches snapped with terrifying speed. She spun, sweeping the leg of an invisible opponent, and transitioned into a dual-palm strike.

But there was no fire. Where Zuko would have produced a roaring blaze, Nia produced... silence. Her movements were perfect, but her hands were empty. It was a ghost dance. The muscle memory of a master, performed by a bender who had been hollowed out.

She finished the form. She stood still, chest heaving slightly, her hands held out in the final strike position. Nothing but a faint wisp of steam curled from her fingers.

Zuko stood there, stunned. He watched the way the wind caught her loose hair. He watched the lethal precision of her stance. He felt that thump-thump-thump in his chest again. She is terrifying, Zuko thought, his mouth dry. She could kill me with her bare hands. Why do I want to spar with her? Is something wrong with me?

"Your form," Zuko said, his voice hoarse. "It's... perfect."

Nia lowered her hands. The sadness washed back over her face. "It is geometry without the spark," she whispered. "It is a gun without powder."

"It's not," Zuko stepped closer. "The fire isn't the form, Nia. The drive is the form. You still have the drive."

Nia looked away. "I have the Plasma. That is all."

The day before arrival

The Capital was a smudge of smoke on the horizon. Tomorrow, they would land. Nia stood at the railing. Zuko stood next to her. He saw the "Iron Mask" sliding back into place.

"You're doing it again," Zuko said softly. 

"Doing what?" Nia asked, confused. 

"Leaving," Zuko said. "You're standing right here, but you're leaving."

Nia didn't deny it. "Tomorrow... we go back to the rules." 

"I know," Zuko said miserably. 

"I cannot call you 'Zuko' in front of the Sages. I cannot hold your arm in the hallway." She looked at her hands. "I have to be the Minister. And you have to be the Fire Lord."

"I hate the rules," Zuko whispered.

"The rules keep us safe," Nia recited, though it sounded like a lie now.

Zuko turned to her. He looked at her lips. He looked at the loose curl falling over her eye. He wanted to break every rule in the Fire Nation. He leaned in, hust an inch. Nia didn't pull away. Her breath hitched, and her eyes fluttered, watching him. Do it, his brain screamed. Kiss her.

"Fire Lord Zuko!" The Captain’s voice boomed from the bridge. "Lighthouse spotted! We are entering the harbor zone at dawn!"

The moment shattered like glass. Zuko pulled back. Nia stepped away, smoothing her robes, her face flushing slightly. 

"We should... prepare," Nia said, her voice shaking.

"Yeah," Zuko said, looking at the distant light that signaled the end of their freedom. "We should."

Chapter Text

Chapter 12

“Your majesty, we will be arriving soon to the Capital.”

Those words haunted Nia’s mind for over thirty minutes. They’ll be there… soon. 

“Thank you, captain,” Zuko said kindly. The Fire Lord was slightly relieved to return back to the Capital city. It was a bit exhausting to travel all the time sometimes. 

Nia however, wasn’t fond of the idea of the return. 

“We’ll be arriving soon.”

She fussed with her bag, pretending to look through something. Her eyes started to get misty slowly.

“Nia?” Zuko approached her. Her heart jumped and she looked at the Fire Lord, prepared to disembark. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Nia replied, quicker than intended. “Everything’s okay.”

“You sure?” Zuko asked again. 

“Yeah, don’t worry, Fire Lord,” Nia forced a smile, “The salty water just bothers my eyes.”

Zuko nodded, not convinced by his ambassador’s answers, but he didn’t keep pressing. Nia’s golden eyes focused only on the blue water, because she was still too scared to look to the horizon, knowing what was about to come. 

Inevitably, a few minutes later, the Fire Nation Capital was in view. Nia’s heart pounded like a war drum, and her chest felt ready to burst.

The coastline was starting to get closer, and the familiar mountains were already in view, as well as the walls that surrounded the city. As the ship got closer, Nia’s body filled itself with dread, and the memories started to come in giant waves. 

They were here.

After what seemed like an eternity, the ship rocked gently as it slid into the harbor, and steam hissed from its sides. The Fire Nation’s crest loomed large on the dock banners, crimson and gold like a wound that never quite healed.

Nia gripped the railing until her knuckles ached, and she told herself it was the salt in the air making her eyes sting.

Four years

Four years since she'd last seen these ports, this skyline, that tower; gods… that tower. She used to climb it when she was still foolish enough to believe she belonged here.

A shout echoed from the docks, orders barked, sailors laughing, and something in her chest cracked.

The words surfaced unbidden, like a song half-remembered. Her breath hitched.

She turned away, still fussing with her bag, but her fingers trembled. The capital wasn’t supposed to feel like this. 

She wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

The gangplank thudded against the dock, the ship rocking gently in place. Sailors shouted over the din, ropes thrown and caught, cargo being hoisted.

But Nia couldn’t move.

Her body trembled, hands gripping the railing as if the metal could anchor her. The capital stretched before her, the gates, the golden roofs, smoke rising from the forges, the Fire Lord’s palace in the distance, looming like a memory she never wanted to resurrect.

And then footsteps. Steady. Soft.

“Nia?”

Her breath hitched. She didn’t need to turn.

Zuko’s voice was deeper now, quiet in that infuriatingly calm way of his. She hated how it still reached her.

She took a step towards the gangplank, her knees shaking violently. She then took another weak step, but her knees gave in. 

A pair of strong hands caught her from behind, steadying her before she collapsed.

That finally undid her.

“I told myself it wouldn’t matter,” she choked out, slowly turning. “That it was just a city. Just politics. But it’s not. It’s—” Her voice broke. “It’s everything I ran from.”

Zuko looked into Nia’s eyes, which were filled with tears to the brim, and her jaw was tensed up. She looked into his amber eyes, and couldn’t hold it anymore. 

Her whole frame trembled with violent sobs, emerging from deep within her. They were loud, filled with pain. Nia reached forward to Zuko, who received her with almost open arms. She clung to his robes like her dear life and held tightly, not wanting to let go at all. The Fire Lord just held her, not exactly knowing what to do, but still holding her to calm her down. 

He didn’t say anything. He just held her tighter, as if saying: I know. I’m here.

He doesn't ask her to walk. He shifts his grip. He puts one arm under her knees and the other around her back, and he picks her up. 

He turns to the Captain. "Clear the lower deck. Prepare a private carriage at the rear exit. No fanfare. No trumpets."

The Captain looked at Zuko, startled and confused. "But My Lord, the Mayor is waiting—" 

Zuko glared at the captain with one swift look. "I said no fanfare.” he growled. “If anyone speaks to her, they answer to me."

He carried her off the ship, shielding her face with his broad shoulder/cloak so no one could see her tears. He carries her straight into the carriage. 

***

The carriage door clicked shut, sealing out the noise of the harbor. The velvet curtains were drawn tight, casting the interior in a dim, reddish gloom.

Nia was sitting on the bench seat, hunched over, her face buried in her hands. Her breathing was ragged, hitching every few seconds as the aftershocks of the panic attack rolled through her.

Zuko sat next to her—close, but not crowding her. He had one hand resting tentatively on her back, rubbing small, soothing circles between her shoulder blades. He didn't speak. He just let the rhythm of his hand match the rhythm of the carriage wheels.

Slowly, the fog in Nia’s brain began to clear.

The smell of Zuko’s robes (smoke and cedar). The quiet. The realization of where she was.

She froze.

I just collapsed, she thought, horror washing over her. I just wailed like a child in the arms of the Fire Lord. In public.

Nia shot up, pulling away from Zuko’s touch as if burned. She scrambled to the far corner of the seat, frantically wiping at her face with her sleeves.

"I apologize," she gasped, her voice thick and hoarse. "I am so sorry, Fire Lord Zuko. That was... unacceptable. Unprofessional. I don't know what came over me."

"Nia," Zuko started, reaching for her.

"No, please," she held up a hand, refusing to look at him. She stared at the floorboards, her face burning with shame. "I am the Ambassador. I am supposed to be composed. I have disgraced myself."

"You haven't disgraced anyone," Zuko said firmly. He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a clean handkerchief (he always carried one, usually for tea spills). He held it out to her.

Nia stared at the white cloth. Her hand trembled as she took it. She dabbed at her swollen eyes, taking a shuddering breath.

"It was the skyline," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the clatter of hooves.

Zuko waited. "The skyline?"

"The Tower," Nia admitted. She gestured vaguely toward the window. "My grandmother... Keres. She used to take me there. She would point at the Palace and tell me that if I wasn't perfect, if I wasn't the daughter House Tang needed... I would never step foot inside those gates."

She crumpled the handkerchief in her fist.

"And my father..." Nia’s voice cracked. "Shareen. He died for this city. He died for a war this city started. Everywhere I look, I see them. I see my grandmother’s disappointment. I see my father’s ghost."

She finally looked up at Zuko. Her golden eyes were red-rimmed and filled with a deep, ancient exhaustion.

"I thought I was strong enough to come back," she confessed. "But the moment I saw the walls... I felt like that little girl again. The one who wasn't good enough. The one who had to run away to survive."

Zuko looked at her.

He didn't see a weak ambassador. He saw a mirror.

He knew exactly what it felt like to look at the Palace and see only judgment. He knew what it felt like to have a father’s disappointment and a mother’s ghost haunting every hallway.

"You aren't that little girl anymore," Zuko said softly.

He shifted, sliding across the seat until he was next to her again. He didn't touch her this time; he just sat close enough that she could feel his warmth.

"And you aren't running away," Zuko continued. "You came back. You stepped off the boat."

"I fell off the boat," Nia corrected bitterly. "Into your arms."

"You stepped off," Zuko insisted. "And as for the ghosts..."

He looked toward the curtained window, his expression darkening as he thought of Ozai and Azula.

"They don't own the city, Nia," Zuko said fiercely. "Not anymore. We do. My father is in prison. Your grandmother is not here right now. This is our city now."

Nia looked at him. She saw the determination in his jaw, the fire in his eyes. He was trying to be strong for her, trying to rewrite the narrative of the city just for her sake.

The shame in her chest loosened, just a fraction.

"Our city," she repeated, testing the words.

"Yes," Zuko said. He reached out and gently took the hand that was clenching the handkerchief. "And if you need to cry to get through the gates? Then you cry. I have cried in this carriage at least a dozen times. Ask the driver."

Nia let out a startled, watery laugh. "Really?"

"Oh, absolutely," Zuko deadpanned. "Usually after meetings with the Council. I once cried because the stress made me forget the word for 'noodle'."

Nia laughed again, a real sound this time. She squeezed his hand.

"Thank you, Zuko," she whispered.

"Always," he replied.

He didn't let go of her hand for the rest of the ride. And when the carriage finally rolled through the Palace gates—the gates Keres said she’d never enter—Nia held her head up. Not because she wasn't scared, but because the Dragon was holding her hand, and the ghosts didn't dare touch her while he was there.

The carriage stopped in the private courtyard. Zuko kept his word: no fanfare, no trumpets. Just a quiet ushering through the side servants' entrance and up the back stairs to the Royal Guest Wing.

The suite was enormous. The walls were draped in red silk, and the furniture was dark, polished mahogany. It smelled of cedar and old power. Nia stood in the center of the room, her travel bag looking small and pathetic on the elegant, embroidered rug.

"My room is through there," Zuko said, pointing to a heavy oak door on the left wall. "It’s locked from both sides, but I have the key. If you need anything, you knock."

Nia nodded, her arms wrapped around herself. The blue parka Katara gifted her felt too casual here. She felt exposed. "Thank you, Fire Lord."

Zuko paused at the main door. He looked back at her. He hated the formal title, because it felt like a wall she was rebuilding. 

"Try to sleep," he said softy. "The hearing isn't until noon tomorrow. You're safe here."

"I know," Nia whispered.

He left. The lock clicked. Silence rushed in. It wasn't the peaceful silence of the boat. It was the suffocating silence of the Palace. Nia walked to the window. She looked out at the city—the black volcanic rock, the red lanterns, the smoke rising from the Caldera. "I am here," she whispered to the glass. "I exist."

She turned away. She started to unpack her bag, and took out her Council robes (soft grey). She looked at them and shook her head. Too soft. They will eat me alive. She reached deeper into the bag and pulled out the House Tang Formal Wear. Black silk, high collar, and stiff gold and crimson embroidery. She hung it up like a suit of armor. It has been years since she even wore the robes, and she hoped they fit her.

Nia unpacked the rest of her most important possessions: her father’s journal, the family photograph, the red necklace, and the Mother-of-pearl comb. She still kept them in the old leather pouch she brought with her to Republic City, because they were a small reminder of her identity, of what she left behind. 

Next, she took off the parka Katara gave her and hung it carefully, making sure it did not get dirty, and plopped onto the bed. She was exhausted, not because of the trip, but because of everything it meant right now. 

The large canopy bed was huge, probably twice the size of her bed in her Republic City apartment. It was soft, way too soft, and it reminded Nia of her old bed back in the Tang Estate, which was the same size, and had the same softness. 

Her room always smelled of jazmine, from the day she first used it, to the day she left home. The curtains were tall, made of gold rose silk, and had a view that showed the estate lake, where she and her brother would go feed the Turtle-ducks and fish. It also showed the other houses in the southwest of the city, as well as the mountains that covered the capitol. Her closet was also the size of the apartment in Republic City, and it was filled with rows of dresses, shoes, and robes. She was always dressed like a small princess, but as she grew up, the clothes became darker and gloomier.

Her desk was also longer than her height, and she had some books on the bookshelves her father made for her, where she’d spend her days doing homework for the Royal Fire Academy for Girls or studying from economics to science. It was made of fine cherry blossom wood, and had intricate carvings of cherry trees on the edges. Everything in that room was intricate and neat. Her bathroom was also luxurious, filled with white porcelain and cherry blossom tree wood, and even her vanity was made out of that same fine wood. 

Nia rolled over on the massive, soft bed, staring at the ceiling. The silence in the Palace was heavy. In Republic City, she fell asleep to the sound of people and her neighbors pacing around. Here, the silence pressed against her ears.

She looked at the leather pouch on the nightstand. The Mother-of-Pearl comb peeked out, along with the necklace. She then looked at the heavy oak door on the left wall. Zuko, she thought. He was just on the other side. She could almost feel his heat radiating through the wood. You aren't running away, he had said. We own the city.

Nia closed her eyes. She imagined the connecting door was a shield. As long as the Dragon was on the other side, the ghosts of the Tang Estate couldn't get in. For the first time in four years, she fell asleep in the Capital without nightmares.

***

The Palace was silent. Not the peaceful silence of the open ocean, but a heavy, suffocating silence. The kind that felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for someone to make a mistake.

Nia lay in the center of the massive canopy bed. She was buried under three heavy duvets. She was wearing her flannel sleeping tunic and the thick woolen socks Sokka had given her. She was freezing.

Her teeth chattered softly in the dark. Click-click-click. It wasn't the air temperature. Zuko had ordered the vents opened; the room was technically warm. It was the Void. Being back in this kind of room, with the smell of jasmine, the silk curtains, the view of the lake where she used to hide, had triggered a somatic response. Her body remembered being the "Stone Daughter," and so her body had dropped its temperature to match.

She stared at the ceiling, watching the shadows of the cherry blossom branches sway against the plaster. Variable A: Core temp 96 degrees. Variable B: Heart rate 110. Conclusion: Inefficient.

Knock. Knock.

It was barely a sound. Just a soft rap on the connecting door.

Nia flinched. She pulled the duvet up to her nose. "Y-yes?" she chattered.

The door creaked open. A slice of golden light cut across the dark room. Zuko stood in the doorway. He wasn't wearing his armor. He wasn't wearing the crown. He was wearing simple crimson sleeping robes, his medium length hair loose around his shoulders. He held a small, flickering flame in his palm, using it as a lantern.

He looked at the bed. He saw the mountain of blankets. He heard the chattering.

"I knew it," Zuko whispered.

He stepped inside, closing the door softly but leaving it unlatched. He crossed the room. He didn't ask for permission; the rules of the boat seemed to apply here in the dark. He sat on the edge of the mattress. The mattress dipped under his weight.

"Nia," Zuko said softly. "You're freezing."

Nia lowered the blanket slightly. Her lips were pale. "The r-room is... logically warm," she stuttered. "It is a p-psychosomatic response to... environment triggers."

"It's the ghosts," Zuko corrected gently. He set the flame in his hand into the bedside lantern, lighting the room with a warm, orange glow. Then he turned back to her.

"Give me your hands."

Nia hesitated. She felt pathetic. She was the Minister of Economics, she shouldn't need the Fire Lord to tuck her in, but the cold was hurting her bones. She reached out from the duvet cocoon.

Zuko took her hands. His skin was burning hot with the natural, radiant heat of a powerful firebender. He didn't just hold them, he sandwiched her hands between his, rubbing friction into her knuckles, sending waves of Chi into her system.

"Better?" Zuko asked, watching her face.

Nia closed her eyes. The heat traveled up her arms, thawing the ice in her chest. "Yes," she whispered. "Efficient."

Zuko let out a small, dry chuckle. "I missed that word." He kept rubbing her hands. He looked around the room, at the red silk, the expensive wood, the perfection of it all. "I hate this wing," Zuko admitted quietly. "My father used to make me meditate in the garden outside. If I moved, he'd burn the grass around me."

Nia opened her eyes. She looked at him, and she whispered. "There was a room similar to this one in the Tang Estate. Keres used to sit in a chair, and she would watch me pour tea. If I spilled a drop... she would make me start the pot over. One time, I poured tea for six hours. My hands shook so bad I dropped the pot."

Zuko stopped rubbing her hands. He squeezed them tight. "She's not here, Nia."

"I know," Nia said. "But the mind remembers."

Zuko shifted. He moved closer, until his hip was pressed against the side of her legs through the blankets. "Then we change the memory," Zuko said firmly.

He lifted her cold hands. He pressed them against his own chest, right over his heart, underneath the lapel of his robe. Direct skin-to-skin contact. The heat was intense. It was like touching a furnace. Nia gasped softly, her fingers curling against his warm skin.

"Focus on this," Zuko commanded softly. "Not the jasmine, not Keres. Focus on the heat, focus on the beat." Thump. Thump. Thump.

Nia focused. She felt the steady, strong rhythm of his heart. She felt the rise and fall of his breath. The "Void" in her stomach began to recede, pushed back by the sheer, undeniable presence of the Dragon.

"You are... very warm," Nia murmured, her eyelids getting heavy.

"I'm like the Sun, remember?" Zuko whispered. "I've got enough for both of us."

They stayed like that for a long time. The Fire Lord sitting on the edge of the bed, the Minister curling into his warmth, her hands pressed to his heart. Slowly, the chattering stopped. Her breathing evened out.

"Zuko?" Nia whispered, half-asleep.

"Yeah?"

"Tomorrow... I will handle Shinu. You handle the Sages."

Zuko smiled. He brushed a stray curl off her forehead. "Deal."

He waited until she was fully asleep. Then, he gently extricated her hands from his chest and tucked them back under the heavy duvet. He stood up, and he walked to the connecting door, leaving it wide open.

"Goodnight, Nia," Zuko whispered to the dark.

He went back to his room, but he sat in the chair facing her door, watching over the Ghost and the Shark, ready to burn anyone who tried to hurt her.

***

The sun rose over the Caldera like a threat. The light hit the volcanic rock and turned the world into sharp contrast—blinding gold and pitch black.

Nia sat at the vanity. It was made of the same cherry blossom wood as her old one. The smell of jasmine polish made her stomach turn. She pushed the nostalgia down. She locked it in a box in her mind labeled 'Inefficient Emotions'.

She opened her wardrobe. She pushed past the soft grey robes of the Council. She reached for the back, where she had packed the House Tang Formal Wear.

She pulled it out. Black silk. It was heavy. The collar was high and stiff, designed to force her chin up and restrict her head movement. The sleeves were long and wide, swallowing her hands completely. The embroidery was subtle; dark red thread that looked like veins of magma cooling under rock.

She stepped into it. It felt like stepping into a coffin. She buttoned the collar. It pinched her throat. Good, she thought. It reminds me not to speak unless necessary.

Next, the hair. She pulled the wild auburn curls back. She smoothed every flyaway with oil, pulling the mass tight until her scalp ached. She twisted it into a complex, structural bun—a geometric knot that allowed no movement.

She picked up the Mother-of-Pearl Comb. It was white, delicate, and iridescent. She slid it into the dark bun. It stood out like a bone. It was the only part of her that was still her father’s daughter, while the rest belonged to the State.

She applied the eyeliner, sharp wings that made her eyes look predatory, applied the lip stain, which was dark crimson, stood up, and picked up her metal clipboard.

She looked in the mirror. The girl who cried in the carriage was gone, the girl who played Pai Sho on the boat was gone. The Shoji Shark stared back.

Knock. Knock.

"Nia?" Zuko’s voice came from the connecting door.

"Enter," she said. Her voice was an octave lower than usual. Controlled. Flat.

The lock clicked. The heavy oak door swung open. Zuko walked in. He was wearing his full Fire Lord regalia. The heavy gold shoulder pieces broadened his frame. The intricate golden headpiece pulled his topknot tight. The long red cape dragged on the floor behind him with a soft shhh. He looked regal, powerful, but his eyes were anxious. He was looking for his companion.

He stopped when he saw her. He blinked and scanned her face, looking for a trace of the girl in the blue parka. She wasn't there.

"You look..." Zuko started, searching for the word. He looked a little intimidated.

"I look efficient," Nia finished coldly.

She didn't smile, or soften. She tapped a finger against the metal clipboard. "I have reviewed the audit files, Fire Lord. General Shinu’s argument relies on the 'Sun-Spirit' clause of the budget, which was repealed ten years ago. He is walking into a trap."

Zuko stared at her. He hated the mask. He hated that she felt she needed it, but looking at her: sharp, terrifying, and brilliant, he knew she was right, because boat Nia would be eaten alive in that throne room. He needed the Shark.

He straightened his spine, matching her energy. The anxiety in his eyes hardened into command. "Okay," Zuko said. "Let’s go spring it."

Nia walked to the door. She paused, her hand on the latch. "Stay close to me," she whispered, the only crack in the armor.

Zuko stepped up beside her. "Always."

***
The Hall of Sages was designed to make men feel small. It was a massive, circular amphitheater carved from black volcanic glass and obsidian. The ceiling was lost in shadows, and the acoustics were designed so that the High Sages, sitting on their elevated stone benches, sounded like gods speaking from the heavens.

The air was freezing. Zuko walked into the center of the circle. His cape dragged over the stone floor with a heavy swish. Nia walked one step behind him and to the right. Her hands were hidden in her sleeves. Her face was a porcelain mask.

She scanned the room. 

Variable A: The High Sages, five of them: old, wrinkled, clutching their staffs. They looked bored and hungry.

Variable B: General Shinu. He stood in the petitioner’s circle to the left. He was wearing full battle armor, despite there being no battle, and he was sweating slightly. 

Variable C: The Gallery.

Nia’s eyes flicked up to the shadows of the upper balcony. There were a dozen nobles watching, and there, sitting in the front row, wearing robes of black and silver, sat Lady Keres of House Tang.

Nia’s breath hitched for a fraction of a second. Keres looked exactly the same. The sharp cheekbones, the eyes that judged everything and found it wanting. She was watching Nia, not with pride, not with anger, but rather with the cold, clinical curiosity of a scientist watching a rat in a maze.

Focus, Nia told herself. She is not your grandmother right now. She is just another variable.

"Fire Lord Zuko," High Sage Ukano intoned. His voice boomed off the walls, vibrating in Nia’s chest. "We have convened this Emergency Audit regarding the 'Harmony Restoration Project'. The Council of Sages is concerned."

"Concerned?" Zuko challenged, his voice strong. "The project is stabilizing the colonies. It is keeping the peace."

"It is bleeding us dry!" General Shinu shouted, stepping forward. He gestured wildly to the Sages. "My Lords! The Fire Lord speaks of peace, but I speak of survival! For three months, he has ordered the dismantling of the Model-4 Tundra Tanks! He is melting down our heritage! He is taking the steel that conquered the world and turning it into... into bridges for Earth Kingdom peasants!"

The Sages murmured. The sound was like dry leaves skittering on pavement. "Heritage," one Sage muttered, shaking his head. "Disgraceful." 

"Our defenses," another whispered. "Compromised."

"We are vulnerable!" Shinu roared, sensing he was winning. "If the Earth Kingdom attacks tomorrow, what will we fight them with? Spreadsheets? Good intentions?" He pointed a finger at Zuko. "You are stripping the Fire Nation naked, boy! You are dishonoring your father's legacy!"

The air in the room grew hot. Zuko’s fists clenched at his sides. Smoke curled from his knuckles. His jaw was tight. He was about to scream. He was about to tell them that his father’s legacy was ash and death.

Nia moved. She didn't run, and she didn't rush. She simply took two steps forward. Click. Click. The sound of her heels cut through the murmurs like a gunshot.

She reached out and placed a gloved hand on Zuko’s arm. A light, barely-there touch. Let me.

Zuko froze. He looked at her. He saw the Mother-of-pearl comb glinting in the torchlight. He saw the Shark. He stepped back.

Nia turned to face General Shinu. She didn't bow. She didn't blink. She pulled her metal clipboard from her sleeve. SNAP. The sound of the latch opening echoed in the silent room.

"General Shinu," Nia said. Her voice was quiet, monotone, and absolutely terrifying. "You used the word 'Heritage'. That is an interesting choice of vocabulary for a piece of machinery with a thirty percent catastrophic failure rate."

Shinu blinked, thrown off by her tone. "What? You again!?"

"I am the Minister of Economics," Nia stated. "And I have the maintenance logs for the Model-4 Tundra Tanks dating back to five years ago."

She looked down at her clipboard, tracing a line with her gloved finger. "The Model-4 runs on a dual-combustion engine. It requires refined coal-oil to function. Due to the embargoes, the price of coal-oil has risen by four hundred percent in the last six months."

She looked up. "To keep one battalion of tanks operational, just sitting in the garage, General, not even fighting, costs the Royal Treasury three million gold pieces a month."

The Sages went quiet. They leaned forward. "Three million?" Sage Ukano asked.

"Per battalion," Nia corrected. "We have twelve."

She turned back to Shinu, walking slowly toward him. She moved like a predator circling wounded prey. "You speak of defense, General, but mathematically, these tanks are not weapons. They are parasites; they eat gold; they eat fuel, and they offer nothing in return but rust."

"That... that is speculation!" Shinu sputtered, his face turning red. "We need them for intimidation!"

"Intimidation is inefficient," Nia countered instantly.

She flipped a page on her clipboard. "Now, let us discuss the 'Melting Down' you are so concerned about." She looked up at the gallery, making brief eye contact with Keres. "I authorized the liquidation of the tank fleet. We melted down four thousand tons of high-grade military steel."

"You admit it!" Shinu yelled triumphantly. "Treason!"

"We sold the scrap steel," Nia continued, her voice raising just enough to drown him out, "To the Keum Industries in the United Republic. Because of the global steel shortage, we sold it at a markup of two hundred and fifty percent."

She paused for effect. "We did not lose money, General. We turned your rusting 'Heritage' into a net profit of sixteen million gold pieces."

The Hall of Sages exploded. "Sixteen million?" 

"In one quarter?" 

"That covers the deficit!"

Nia wasn't done. She walked right up to Shinu. She was slightly shorter than him, but she looked down on him. "Furthermore," she said, driving the final nail in the coffin. "By converting the factories to produce railway tracks for the Earth Kingdom, we secured a ten-year trade contract with Ba Sing Se. They pay us for the steel, and they pay us for the engineers. They also pay us for the coal."

She snapped the clipboard shut. The sound echoed like a gavel. "We are not stripping the Fire Nation naked, General. We are making it rich. Unless..." She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. "...Unless you are suggesting that profit is unpatriotic?"

General Shinu opened his mouth. He looked at the Sages, who were now nodding and calculating their own cuts of the profit. He looked at Zuko, who was watching Nia with a look of awe. He had no argument. He had no numbers. He had been brought to a gunfight, and he had brought a poem.

"I..." Shinu stammered. "I only meant..."

"Your sentiment is noted," Nia cut him off coldly. "But your economics are illiterate."

She turned on her heel. She walked back to Zuko. She bowed perfectly, not too low, but not too high. 

"The Treasury is secure, Fire Lord. The audit is concluded."

Zuko looked at her. He wanted to hug her. He wanted to laugh. Instead, he stepped forward, his cape swirling. "You heard the Minister," Zuko boomed, his voice full of the confidence she had just given him. "The Harmony Project proceeds, and General Shinu?"

Shinu looked up, defeated. "Yes, Fire Lord?"

"You're reassigned," Zuko said. "To the sanitation department. Since you enjoy dealing with waste."

Zuko looked at the High Sages. "Meeting adjourned."

***

They walked out of the Hall. The heavy bronze doors boomed shut behind them. They walked down the long, obsidian corridor in perfect silence. The guards bowed as they passed.

They turned the corner into the private wing. The moment they were out of sight, Zuko stopped. He grabbed Nia’s shoulders. "Spirits, Nia!" Zuko whispered-shouted. "You destroyed him! You vaporized him! Did you see Ukano’s face? He looked like he wanted to propose to the clipboard!"

Nia let out a breath she had been holding for twenty minutes. Her shoulders slumped. The "Shark" vanished, leaving the tired girl behind. "He was relying on emotional rhetoric," Nia said, her voice shaking slightly. "It is a common flaw in military logic."

"It was amazing," Zuko said. He squeezed her shoulders. "Thank you. I... I would have burned the room down. You saved us."

"I did my job," Nia whispered.

She looked up at him. The adrenaline was fading, and the cold was creeping back in. "Did you see the gallery?" she asked quietly.

Zuko’s smile faded. "Keres."

"She didn't blink," Nia said, hugging the clipboard to her chest. "She watched the whole thing, and she didn't look angry. She looked..."

"She looked like she realized she made a mistake," Zuko said firmly. He took her hand. He pulled her closer, just for a second, stealing a moment of warmth in the hallway. "She realized that she broke the wrong thing. You aren't a stone, Nia, you're a diamond, and you just cut them all to ribbons."

Nia looked at him. Diamond: sharp, valuable, but still cold. "Diamonds are efficient," she murmured.

Zuko checked the time. "Okay. We survived the sharks. One more thing." He groaned. "The new hospital inauguration. Mandatory smiling."

Nia straightened her collar. She put the mask back on. "We can do it," she said. "Just a ribbon. Then noodles."

"Just a ribbon," Zuko agreed.

They turned and walked toward the exit. Toward the sunlight, toward the plaza, toward the man with the lightning in his sleeve.

Chapter Text

Location: Wolf Cove, The Southern Water Tribe. 

Temperature: Too cold. 

The Water Tribe cutter docked at the icy pier. Sokka stood at the bow. He was wearing his Councilman robes (which were not insulated enough) and striking a pose he had practiced in the mirror for three hours. He called it "The Returning Hero."

"Behold!" Sokka shouted to the small crowd of villagers. "I, Councilman Sokka of the United Republic, Chairman of the Terra-Team, and Inventor of the Submarine, have returned!"

He strode down the gangplank with majestic purpose. He slipped on a patch of black ice. He flailed, did a windmill with his arms, and face-planted directly into a snowbank.

"Welcome home, Sokka," Katara sighed, walking past him.

A large, warm hand grabbed Sokka by the back of his tunic and hauled him out of the snow. Chief Hakoda stood there, grinning. He looked older, a few more grey hairs, but his eyes were bright. "Nice entrance, Councilman," Hakoda laughed. "Did you invent that move, too?"

"It was a tactical roll!" Sokka sputtered, wiping snow off his face. "Dad! I’m an elected official now! You have to respect the-"

"Sokka!" Gran-Gran shuffled forward. She ignored his robes, she ignored his title. She reached up and pinched his cheek with the grip strength of a crab-spider.

"Ow! Gran-Gran!"

"You look thin," Gran-Gran criticized, twisting the cheek. "Are they not feeding you in the big city? You look like a dried fish."

"I’m lean!" Sokka yelped. "It’s muscle definition!"

"Hmph," Gran-Gran released him. She handed him a bucket and a rusty knife. "The seal-jerky needs descaling. Get to work, Councilman."

Sokka stared at the bucket. "But... I have a meeting with the Elders about trade tariffs..."

"After the jerky," Gran-Gran ordered. She turned to Aang. "Avatar Aang."

Aang bowed low. "Gran-Gran! It’s an honor to—" Gran-Gran pinched his cheek too. "You got taller," she noted. "Good. You can reach the top shelf in the pantry. Go get the dried fish."

Aang rubbed his cheek, beaming. "Yes, ma'am!"

Finally, Gran-Gran looked at Toph. Toph was standing on the dock, clutching Katara’s arm like a lifeline. She looked miserable. "Why is the ground moving?" Toph complained loudly. "Ice isn't a rock! It’s just... angry water that stopped moving! I can't see anything!"

"Hello, little Earthbender," Gran-Gran said kindly. "Welcome to the pole. Do you like stew?"

Toph paused. "Is it meat?" 

"It is entirely meat." 

Toph grinned. "I like this place."

***

That night, they squeezed into the Chieftain’s hut. The fire was roaring, and the stew was thick. Hakoda sat at the head of the table, listening to Aang recount everything that happened in the Republic (with heavy embellishments from Sokka).

However, there was a problem. Aang and Katara were sitting next to each other. They weren't just sitting, they were... intertwined. Aang’s hand was under the table, holding Katara’s. Katara was leaning her head on his shoulder. At one point, Aang waterbent a piece of seal-jerky directly into her mouth, and she giggled.

Sokka slammed his spoon down. "Okay! Enough!" He pointed his spoon at them. "I am trying to eat my dinner, and I am surrounded by a pink aura of oogies! Stop looking at each other like that!"

"Like what?" Aang asked innocently.

"Like you want to merge spirits!" Sokka gagged. "Dad, tell them! It’s improper! It’s unhygienic!"

Hakoda took a sip of tea. He looked at Aang (the Savior of the World) and Katara (his daughter, a Master Waterbender). "I think it’s nice," Hakoda shrugged. "Young love. Reminds me of your mother and I."

"Thank you, Hakoda," Aang smiled. He looked at Katara. "See? Your dad is cool."

"I am cool," Hakoda agreed.

"I am sensing elevated heart rates," Toph announced from across the table. She chewed on a bone. "Aang’s heart sounds like a hummingbird on caffeine. It’s annoying. If he beats any faster, he’s going to vibrate through the floor."

Aang turned bright red. "I am just... excited to be here! The... altitude!"

"We are at sea level, Twinkle Toes," Toph deadpanned.

***

An hour later, the hut was getting crowded. "We're going to go... train," Aang announced, standing up abruptly. "Yes," Katara agreed, standing up too fast. "Waterbending forms. In the moonlight. Very technical."

They practically ran out the door.

Sokka narrowed his eyes. "Training. Right. I give it ten minutes before they start making snow-angels." "Ten minutes?" Toph scoffed. "I give it five."

Location: A secluded glacier, half a mile from the village. 

Aang stopped running. He looked at Katara. The moonlight hit her face, reflecting off the snow. She looked beautiful. "So," Aang breathed. "Training?"

"It’s cold," Katara smiled, stepping closer. "Maybe we should build a shelter first."

Aang grinned. He stomped his foot. He bent the snow around them, swirling it into a perfect, domed igloo. He added a bench. He added a skylight. Katara bent the moisture out of the air inside, freezing the walls into solid, wind-proof ice. Then, she pulled a few coals from her pouch and breathed a small fire into life in the center.

It was cozy. It was private. They sat on the ice bench, wrapped in furs.

"I missed this," Katara whispered, looking at the fire. "Just... quiet."

"Me too," Aang said. His voice had dropped a little, that new, deep register that he was still growing into. "In Republic City, I have to be the Avatar all the time. Here... I can just be Aang."

Katara turned to him. "I like ‘just Aang.’"

Aang looked at her teal-blue. He leaned in, and they kissed. It started sweet, the kind of kiss they had shared a hundred times, but then, Aang put his hand on her waist, pulling her closer under the furs. Katara’s hands tangled in the collar of his tunic. The kiss deepened, and it wasn't just sweet anymore, it was... urgent.

Aang felt a rush of energy. He was happy; he was overwhelmed; He was sixteen and in love with the girl of his dreams. The energy swelled in his chest. His tattoos began to glow.

"Aang," Katara murmured against his lips. "It’s getting warm."

"Mmm," Aang hummed, not stopping.

"No," Katara pulled back slightly. "Aang, look up."

Aang opened his eyes. They were glowing bright white. He looked up. The ceiling of the igloo wasn't ice anymore. It was dripping. The sheer radiant heat coming off his Avatar State was turning their shelter into a sauna.

"Oh," Aang blinked. The glow faded. "Oops."

Drip. A massive drop of freezing water landed right on his nose.

"You melted the roof," Katara laughed, wiping the water off his face. "You literally melted the roof because you got too excited."

"I can't help it!" Aang defended, his face burning. "It’s the Cosmic Energy! It responds to emotion!"

"Uh-huh," Katara smirked. "Cosmic Energy."

She leaned back in to kiss him again. And that’s when the wall exploded.

CRASH.

A massive chunk of ice flew inward, shattering against the far wall. Toph stood in the opening, looking annoyed. Sokka stood behind her, his hands clamped firmly over his eyes.

"FOUND YOU!" Toph yelled. "I told you, Snoozles! Five minutes!"

"MY EYES!" Sokka screamed, pointing blindly at them. "KATARA! PUT YOUR PARKA ON! THINK OF YOUR ANCESTORS!"

"I AM WEARING MY PARKA, SOKKA!" Katara yelled back, scrambling away from Aang. "WE WERE JUST TALKING!"

"Talking doesn't melt a structural dome!" Sokka argued, peeking through his fingers. "Look at this! It’s a puddle! Aang, stop going Avatar State on my sister!"

"I didn't mean to!" Aang squeaked, pulling his collar up to hide his blush.

"That’s it," Sokka declared. "Curfew! Back to the hut! I am separating you. Toph, you’re on guard duty. If Aang tries to waterbend a love-note, you rock-block him."

"With pleasure," Toph grinned, cracking her knuckles.

Later that night, the chaos had settled. The Gaang was sleeping in the main hut. Sokka was snoring, Toph was kicked back with her feet on a crate, and Aang and Katara were on opposite sides of the room (per Sokka’s orders), but they were looking at each other across the firelight, smiling.

Sokka rolled over in his sleep, muttering. "Stupid Zuko... bet he's having boring tea parties... probably sleeping on silk sheets..."

Aang looked out the window at the stars. The Southern Lights were dancing with green and purple ribbons in the sky. It was peaceful,.. it was safe. "I hope they're okay," Aang whispered to the air. "Zuko and Nia. I hope they're just... bored."

***

The next morning, Sokka slammed a blueprint onto the breakfast table. It was drawn on a piece of dried seal skin with charcoal. "Listen up, Team Avatar," Sokka announced, wearing his wolf-helmet (which was crooked). "Our defenses are weak. We have benders, sure. but what if the enemy has... anti-bender shields? We need artillery."

Hakoda squinted at the drawing. "Son, is that a catapult made of whale ribs?"

"It is the Snow-Launcher 3000," Sokka corrected. "And today, we test it."

He pointed a spoon at Toph. "Toph. You are the target."

Toph grinned, revealing her perfectly aligned teeth. It made her look feral yet stunning. "You're going to shoot ice at the blind girl?" Toph asked. "Bold strategy, Snoozles. Let's see how it pays off."

***

Location: The Great Ice Shelf. 

Teams:

• Team Science: Sokka (Commander), Hakoda (Moral Support/Laughing).
• Team Bender: Katara, Aang.
• Team Chaos: Toph (Freelance Agent).

Sokka had built his fort. It was impressive. Thick walls, crenellations, and the Snow-Launcher 3000 sitting in the center. He loaded a snowball the size of a cabbage.

"Range... forty meters!" Sokka shouted. "Wind... brisk! Fire!"

THWACK. The lever snapped. The snowball launched. It soared through the air, a majestic arc of white death.

Toph stood in the open field. She didn't move. She waited until the snowball was three feet away. Then, she dropped flat. Whoosh. The snowball sailed over her head and hit Aang directly in the face.

"I'm hit!" Aang yelled, falling over dramatically. "The humanity!"

"Friendly fire!" Sokka screamed. "Recalibrate!"

"My turn," Toph said. She couldn't bend the ice. But she had discovered something important: Packed snow is heavy. She scooped up a ball of ice. She waited. She felt the vibrations of Sokka frantically reloading. Step. Step. Trip. She threw.

It wasn't a lob. It was a fastball. CRACK. It hit Sokka’s helmet with a sound like a gong. Sokka spun around twice and fell into his own ammo pile.

"Sniper!" Sokka wheezed. "She's using echolocation! It's cheating!"

"It's skill!" Toph yelled back.

Suddenly, the snow around Toph began to rise. Katara stood up from behind a ridge. She moved her arms like she was conducting an orchestra. Ten snowballs lifted into the air, then twenty, then fifty.

"You guys use hands?" Katara smirked. "That's cute."

"RUN!" Hakoda yelled, abandoning his son and diving behind an ice pillar.

Katara unleashed hell. It was a blizzard, because the snowballs flew at machine-gun speeds. Sokka’s fort disintegrated. Aang (who had recovered) started airbending the snow back at her, creating a vortex of white powder. Toph, realizing she was outgunned, simply dug a hole and hid in it, occasionally popping up to throw a rock she had brought from the mainland.

It was total, glorious chaos. Sokka was screaming orders nobody listened to, Aang was laughing so hard he couldn't airbend straight, and Katara was ruling the battlefield like a vengeful ice queen.

The battle ended when Toph got bored. "I'm done hiding!" Toph yelled from her foxhole. She jumped out. She ran toward Sokka’s ruined fort to deliver a finishing punch.

She stomped her foot down to brace for the strike. THUD.

The sound wasn't right. Usually, the ice shelf sounded like a dull thump. This sounded... hollow, metallic, like a drum.

Toph froze mid-punch. "Freeze!" she shouted.

Everyone stopped. Sokka was holding a snowball. Aang was mid-air. 

"What?" Katara asked, lowering her arms. "Give up?"

"Shut up," Toph ordered. She dropped to her knees. She put her ear to the ice. She slammed her fist down again. CLANG.

"That's not ice," Toph whispered. "That's metal. There's a roof under here."

Sokka dropped his snowball. The scientist brain took over. "A roof?" He ran over, sliding on his knees. He pulled out his boomerang and started chipping at the ice. "Under the glacier?"

"Move," Katara said. She stepped forward. She made a cutting motion with her hand. A precise water-whip sliced through the thick layer of ice. She lifted the slab away.

Underneath, buried by forty years of snow, was a hatch. It was rusted. It bore the insignia of the Fire Nation Navy. But someone had painted over it with a blue Water Tribe crescent.

"A Fire Nation ship?" Aang asked, leaning over the hole. "Did it crash?"

"No," Hakoda said, walking up behind them. His face had gone pale. He recognized the markings. "That's not a ship, that's a bunker."

"I’ll open it," Toph said. Using all her strength, she started to metalbend the ship out of the snow, while Katara and Aang waterbent the snow to give her space. She then made an opening in the roof with one swift move. 

They looked down, and a ladder descended into the dark.

"I'll go first," Sokka said, grabbing a torch from his belt (he always had one, "just in case"). He dropped down, his boots hit metal, and he lit the torch.

The light flared up, revealing the room. It wasn't a bunker, it was a Library.

Shelves carved into the metal walls. Waterproof scrolls stacked floor to ceiling. Fire Nation technology repurposed to hold Water Tribe history.

Sokka walked to a desk in the center. There was a logbook open. dust coating the pages. He blew the dust away. He read the last entry. Year 79 AG. Commander: Shareen Tang.

Sokka’s eyes went wide. "Tang?" he whispered. "That's Nia's name."

He read the entry aloud, his voice echoing up to the others. "The raid is scheduled for dawn. The orders are to burn the scrolls. To erase the culture. I cannot obey. We have sealed the archives in the lower hull. I have told the men it is a quarantine zone. If Fire Lord Azulon finds out, I will likely be executed, but history must survive, even if we do not."

Sokka looked up at the hatch, where the faces of his friends were peering down. "Guys," Sokka said, his voice shaking. "Nia’s father didn't just raid the South Pole… he saved it."

One by one, they dropped into the belly of the metal beast. The air inside was stale, smelling of cold iron, old paper, and the faint, ghostly scent of coal dust.

Sokka held the torch high. The flickering light danced over the metal walls. It wasn't just a storage room. It was a sanctuary. The soldiers, Shareen’s men, had welded metal racks to the walls. They had wrapped the Water Tribe scrolls in oilcloth to protect them from the humidity, and they had built crates for the bone carvings, lined with straw.

"This isn't a dump," Hakoda whispered, running his hand over a crate. "This is a museum."

Katara walked to a shelf. Her hands trembled as she reached for a scroll wrapped in blue seal skin. She untied the leather cord, unrolled it, and her breath hitched. "It’s the Moonless Dance," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. 

"Mom used to hum this. She said the words were lost in the raids." She traced the ink, faded, but legible. "They aren't lost. They're right here."

Aang walked to the back of the room. He found a rack of parkas with ancient designs and intricate embroidery that no one in the village knew how to make anymore. "He saved the art," Aang said softly. "Shareen didn't just hide the scrolls, he hid the identity."

Sokka was still at the Commander’s desk, reading the logbook. "Listen to this," Sokka said. "Entry: Day 40. The men are restless. They ask why we are guarding a pile of 'savage trinkets' instead of fighting. I told them that a soldier destroys, but a warrior protects. If we burn their history, we burn our own honor. We are the Fire Nation, we are supposed to bring light, not darkness."

Sokka looked up, his eyes shining. "He sounded like Zuko," Sokka said. "Decades before Zuko was even born, Nia’s dad sounded just like him."

Hakoda took the logbook. He looked at the signature. Commander Shareen Tang. "We called them monsters," Hakoda murmured. "When the raiders came... we thought they were all monsters. But this man... he risked execution to save a song he couldn't even sing."

Toph was standing in the middle of the room. She had her hand pressed flat against the floor. She wasn't looking at the scrolls. She was listening to the metal. "It’s crying," Toph said abruptly.

"The ship?" Aang asked.

"The metal," Toph corrected. "It’s been buried under the ice for nearly thirty years. It’s heavy, it wants to breathe." She stood up. She cracked her knuckles. "We’re not leaving it here."

They climbed back out of the hatch, the wind blowing. "Toph," Sokka said, looking at the endless expanse of snow. "This is a Fire Nation Cruiser. It weighs four thousand tons. It’s buried under thirty feet of solid ice."

"So?" Toph spat to the side. "I moved a library in the desert. This is just a big canoe."

She walked about fifty feet away from the hatch. She spread her feet wide, settling into a deep Earthbending stance. "Twinkle Toes, Sugar Queen," Toph barked. "Get the snow off the top. I can't lift the ice and the ship. I’m good, but I’m not the Avatar."

Aang and Katara nodded. They stepped forward. They moved in sync. Waterbending forms. They pushed. A massive wave of snow and ice peeled away from the buried hull, revealing the rusted black iron of the deck.

"Okay," Toph muttered. "Here we go."

She closed her eyes. She visualized the ship. The keel deep in the ice, the ribs. the rivets, the library in the belly. She reached out with her senses until the metal felt like an extension of her own skin.

Grip.

Toph gritted her teeth. She slammed her hands together. "UP!"

The ground shook. A deep, groaning CREAK echoed across the glacier. Slowly, agonizingly, the ice began to crack. The bow of the ship broke the surface. Rusted, scarred, but whole.

Sokka watched, his jaw unhinged. "She's actually doing it… she's bench-pressing a battleship."

Toph roared with effort. She twisted her hands, pulling the metal up from the earth. The ship rose. Ten feet. Twenty feet. Ice shattered and fell away from the hull. With one final, earth-shaking THUD, Toph slammed the ship down onto the surface of the ice shelf.

It sat there. A dark, jagged monument against the white snow: The Lost Library of the South.

Toph panted. "Okay," she wheezed. "Lunch break."

By sunset, the entire village had gathered. Elders were weeping as they walked into the hull. Children were running their fingers over the scrolls their grandparents had told them about. Gran-Gran stood before the logbook. tracing Shareen Tang’s name.

"We will send a message," Gran-Gran said, her voice firm. "To the Fire Nation."

"To Zuko?" Aang asked.

"To the girl," Gran-Gran corrected. "The granddaughter. She needs to know that her blood is welcome here. She needs to know that her father was a hero of the Water Tribe."

Sokka smiled. He looked at the ship. "I'll write the letter," Sokka said. "I'll tell her... I'll tell her the math worked out."

Chapter Text

Chapter 14

Location: The Main Village Hut. Time: Late Night (Post-Feast).

The village was buzzing. They had just discovered the Lost Library. The Elders were crying, the kids were playing, and everyone was drunk on sea-prune stew and happiness.

Sokka was at the center of it all. He was sitting at a table with three Elders, the Logbook, and a lantern. "You see," Sokka explained, pointing to a map, "Commander Tang used a localized cipher based on the tidal charts of 74 AG. If we cross-reference the moon phases..." He was in his element. He was doing Science, and he wasn't looking at his sister.

Toph was passed out in a pile of furs in the corner. She had eaten four bowls of stew and bench-pressed a battleship. She was in a food coma.

Aang looked at Katara across the fire. He tilted his head toward the door. Katara smirked. She grabbed a heavy bundle of furs. They moved like ninjas. (Or like airbenders and waterbenders). They slipped out into the cold night without making a sound.

They didn't go back to the melted puddle they attempted building the other day. Earlier that day, Aang had bent a new one. Further out, near the cliffs where the Southern Lights hit the ice just right, and this time, Katara had reinforced the walls with ice-bending so thick it was basically a bunker.

They crawled inside. It was small. Intimate. Aang lit the lantern—a soft, orange glow. They spread the furs out on the ice bench, creating a nest.

They sat down, breathless from the cold and sneaking around. "Do you think he saw us?" Aang whispered.

"Sokka is arguing about tidal charts," Katara laughed, pulling off her heavy mittens. "He won't look up until sunrise."

They sat in silence for a moment. The wind howled outside, but inside, it was dead silent. Aang looked at her. He really looked at her, she wasn't just the girl that found him in the iceberg anymore. She was a woman, she was the most powerful waterbender on the planet, and she was looking at him like he was the only thing that mattered.

"Aang," Katara whispered. She reached out and touched his face, tracing the arrow on his forehead. "You're glowing."

Aang blinked. "I am?" He looked at his hands. A faint, soft white light was pulsing under his skin. Not the angry, blinding light of the Avatar State. Just... a hum.

"I can't help it," Aang admitted, his voice rough. "Every time we're alone... every time I look at you... I feel like I'm overflowing, like my spirit can't contain how much I love you… and how much I want you."

Katara’s breath hitched. "Then don't contain it," she whispered.

She leaned in and kissed him. This wasn't the tentative kiss from the library, or the hurried kiss in the melted igloo. This was slow, deliberate. Aang’s hands found her waist, pulling her out of the heavy blue parka. Katara’s hands tangled in his neck, pulling him down.

The lantern flickered. The temperature in the igloo rose, not from firebending, but from the sheer energy radiating off the Avatar. They fell back onto the furs.

"Katara," Aang murmured against her skin. "Are you sure? I mean... Sokka..."

"Forget Sokka," Katara commanded softly. She pulled the furs up over them, shutting out the cold, shutting out the world. "Just be here, with me."

"I'm here," Aang promised. "I'm always here."

The light inside the igloo pulsed brighter, a heartbeat of pure cosmic energy. The wind outside howled, but inside, the ice began to glow blue and gold.

***

Sokka looked terrible. He had stayed up all night decoding the cipher. His hair was messy, and he had ink on his nose. "Okay," Sokka muttered to Hakoda. "I think I figured out the inventory system. If we categorize the scrolls by era..."

He stopped. He squinted.

Walking into the village from the direction of the cliffs were two figures. Aang and Katara. They were walking slowly. Hand in hand. Their hair was messy. They were wearing the same clothes as yesterday, but... disheveled, and Aang... Aang looked different. He was strutting, actually strutting, and his tattoos? They were practically vibrating. The kid looked like he had just achieved Enlightenment for the second time, but the fun kind.

"Morning, Sokka!" Aang chirped as they approached the fire. His voice was annoyingly cheerful. "Beautiful day! The ice is so... ice-y! The sky is so blue!"

Katara didn't say anything. She just sat down, grabbed a bowl of stew, and smiled at the spoon like it was the most fascinating object in the universe. She had a glow that had nothing to do with bending.

Sokka looked at Aang. He looked at Katara. He looked at the disheveled hair. He looked at the direction they came from.

The realization hit him like a boomerang to the face.

Sokka dropped his spoon. His jaw hit the floor. "NO," Sokka whispered.

"Pass the salt, please," Katara hummed happily.

"NO!" Sokka stood up, pointing a shaking finger at them. "NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT! I FORBID IT! RETROACTIVELY!"

Hakoda looked at his son. "Sokka, sit down. What’s wrong?"

"WHAT'S WRONG?" Sokka screeched. "LOOK AT HIM, DAD! LOOK AT THE AVATAR! HE'S... HE'S GLOWING! HE'S GOT THE POST-GAME GLOW!"

Toph, who was eating breakfast, paused. She slammed her hand on the ground. She sensed the vibrations coming from Aang and Katara. She grinned. A wide, shark-like grin. "Oh," Toph cackled. "Oh, wow. Good job, Twinkle Toes. Finally became a man."

Aang choked on his tea. Katara turned bright red but didn't stop smiling.

"LA LA LA I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" Sokka yelled, covering his ears and running out of the hut. "I'M GOING TO THE LIBRARY! I'M GOING TO READ ABOUT DEAD PEOPLE! DEAD PEOPLE DON'T HAVE HORMONES!"

He ran into the snow. Aang and Katara looked at each other. Aang grinned. "Worth it," he whispered.

"Definitely," Katara agreed.

***
THE FIRE NATION 

The transition from the cool, dark obsidian hallways of the Palace to the Royal Plaza was blinding. The sun was at its zenith, and the heat rose from the black pavement in shimmering waves. Thousands of citizens were gathered, red banners snapped in the wind, and drums beat a steady, festive rhythm.

Zuko squinted against the light. He adjusted his heavy ceremonial collar. "I hate this part," he muttered to Nia, keeping his voice low so the guards wouldn't hear. "I always feel like a prize turtle-duck on display."

Nia walked half a step behind him. She was scanning the crowd. Variable A: Perimeter security. Guards are spaced at ten-meter intervals. Adequate. Variable B: Crowd density. High. Risk of concealed weaponry: Moderate. Variable C: The Noodles. (She was actually quite hungry).

"Just the ribbon, Fire Lord," Nia reminded him calmly. "Smile. Wave. Cut the silk. Then we go back to the suite and I will calculate how much General Shinu’s demotion saved the treasury."

Zuko smirked. "You're enjoying this." 

"I enjoy efficiency," she corrected.

They reached the dais, a raised stone platform draped in red velvet. A local official was droning on about "The glorious revitalization of the Royal Hospital." Zuko stood at attention. Nia stood in his shadow, her eyes moving constantly behind her dark eyeliner.

She saw him: third row, left flank. A man in a simple brown tunic, he wasn't cheering, he wasn't looking at the hospital. He was staring at Zuko with a hatred so pure it felt like a physical weight.

Nia’s brain clicked into overdrive. Target identified. Subject is reaching into his left sleeve. Subject is not pulling out a scroll.

The man’s hand emerged. He didn't hold a knife. He held two fingers, pointed like a gun.

Ozone. The smell hit Nia before the sound did. The sharp, metallic tang of charged particles.

"ZUKO!"

Time dilated. Lightning generation takes approximately 1.5 seconds for a skilled bender. Zuko was turning toward her voice, confusion on his face. He was raising a hand, but he was off-balance. He wouldn't make the redirection in time. The bolt would hit his heart. Calculated survival rate: 0%.

Nia didn't think; she didn't feel. She executed.

She dropped her center of gravity. She thrust both palms backward, detonating a concentrated burst of White Plasma. BOOM. The force was violent. It wasn't a jump; it was a launch. She flew through the air like a human missile.

The blue lightning cracked the air—a deafening SNAP that sounded like the sky tearing open. Nia hit Zuko. She didn't gently push him. She tackled him with the force of a freight train, slamming into his chest just as the bolt occupied the space where his heart had been a microsecond before.

The lightning missed Zuko. It hit the stone pillar behind them. Explosion. Debris rained down like shrapnel.

Nia and Zuko hit the pavement hard. They tumbled off the dais, crashing onto the lower stone steps. Zuko, trained as a warrior, instinctively tucked and rolled. Nia did not. She slammed into the edge of a stone step. CRUNCH.

The sound was sickening. It was the sound of structure failing.

They came to a stop in a tangle of limbs and silk while dust filled the air. The crowd was screaming. The guards were swarming the assassin.

Zuko scrambled up, his ears ringing. He was covered in dust, his crown crooked. "Nia?"

She was lying on the stones. She wasn't moving. She was curled slightly on her side, clutching her ribcage. Her face had gone a terrifying shade of grey. Her breath was coming in short, ragged gasps that sounded like a broken bellows.

"Nia!" Zuko crawled over to her. He reached out, but his hands were shaking so bad he couldn't touch her. "Nia, talk to me!"

Nia opened her eyes. They were hazy, unfocused. The gold was dull. She coughed, and a speck of blood appeared on her lips. She looked at Zuko. She looked at the crater in the pillar.

"Inefficient," she wheezed. Every word seemed to cost her a piece of her soul. "Ribs... multiple fractures... lung capacity..."

"Stop calculating!" Zuko yelled, tears instantly filling his eyes. "Why did you do that?! You're an accountant! You don't jump in front of lightning!"

Nia’s eyes fluttered. The pain was receding, replaced by a cold numbness spreading from her chest: The Void. She looked at Zuko, the boy she Pai Sho with on the boat; the Dragon.

"You are... the asset," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the screaming crowd. She tried to smile, but it was just a grimace. "I am... the overhead cost."

Her eyes rolled back. Her hand, which had been clutching his sleeve, went limp. It slid off his arm and hit the pavement with a heavy, final thud.

"No," Zuko whispered. He grabbed her hand. It was freezing. "No. No, no, no."

"MEDIC!" Zuko roared. The sound tore from his throat, raw and primal. "GET A MEDIC! NOW!"

He pulled her limp body into his lap, ignoring the blood on his ceremonial robes, ignoring the guards trying to secure him. He pressed his hands to her chest, trying to push his own fire into her, trying to restart the machine. "Don't you dare," Zuko sobbed, rocking her back and forth. "Don't you dare calculate this. Wake up, Nia. Wake up!"

But the Shoji Shark was gone. And the White Witch was cold.

***

The sound echoed off the stone walls. He ran past the rows of empty beds. Nia was limp in his arms, her head lolling back against his shoulder. Her black robes were soaked through with blood, staining Zuko’s ceremonial armor a dark, terrifying crimson.

Three healers, older women in red robes, their hair pinned back with severe efficiency, rushed forward. They didn't ask questions. They saw the blood, and they saw the Fire Lord’s panic.

"Table two!" the Head Healer, an elderly woman named Yura, barked. "Get the basins! Boil the water! I need clean linens, now!"

Zuko laid Nia down on the wooden table. She looked like a broken doll. Her breathing was a wet, ragged rattle. The healers swarmed her. One began cutting away the ruined silk robes with shears while another pressed a thick pad of white cotton against her side, which turned red instantly.

"The bleeding is deep," Yura muttered, pressing her glowing hands against Nia’s ribs. She closed her eyes, sensing the damage through the heat. "Two ribs shattered, punctured lung, bleeding inside."

"Fix her!" Zuko gasped, his hands hovering uselessly over her. "Do whatever you have to do!"

"My Lord, you are in the way," Yura said sharply. She didn't care that he was the Fire Lord; she was a medic. "Hold her shoulders. We have to set the bone before we can seal the wound. It will hurt."

Zuko grabbed Nia’s shoulders. Her skin was freezing. "I've got you," he whispered to her unconscious face.

Yura nodded to her assistants. "On three. One. Two. Three." CRACK.

Nia’s back arched off the table. A choked, gurgling scream tore from her throat, but her eyes didn't open. Zuko flinched, tears stinging his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Hold her down!" Yura ordered. She placed her hands over the break. Her palms glowed orange—not fire, but focused healing heat. She pushed the Chi into the bone, knitting the fragments together. "Bind it!" she ordered the nurse. "Tight!"

They wrapped her torso in thick bandages. The bleeding slowed. The rattling breath eased slightly, but the room was getting colder.

***

The chaos had settled into a terrifying silence. The new infirmary was dim, lit only by oil lamps that cast long, flickering shadows on the walls. The air smelled of copper, burnt herbs, and an antiseptic.

Nia lay in the center of the bed. She was pale, her light tan skin was almost the color of marble. and the only way to know she was alive was the faint rise and fall of her chest under the heavy wool blankets, and the pulse Zuko could feel under his fingers.

He sat in a wooden chair pulled right up to the mattress. He hadn't changed. He was still wearing the bloodstained ceremonial robes. He held her hand in both of his. He was acting as her life support. He was using the Breath of Fire technique, inhaling deeply, superheating his own blood, and pushing that warmth into her freezing hand, trying to cycle it through her body.

Healer Yura walked over. She checked Nia’s pulse at the neck. She frowned. "My Lord," she whispered.

"Is she warmer?" Zuko asked, his voice rasping.

"Her body is healing, My Lord. The bones are knitting. but..." Yura hesitated. She placed a hand on Nia’s forehead. "She is spiritually cold. Her Chi is stagnant. It is not moving through the meridians."

Zuko looked at Nia’s face. "What does that mean?"

"It means her inner flame is dwindling," Yura said gravely. "The shock of the lightning... the impact... and perhaps her own constitution. She has retreated deep inside herself. If she does not find the will to heat her own blood soon... she will simply fade away."

"She's not fading," Zuko said stubbornly, squeezing her hand. "She's just... resting. She's stubborn."

Healer Yura placed her hand on Nia’s forehead. She then pulled her hands away from Nia’s forehead as if she had touched dry ice. "I don't understand," Yura whispered, looking at her other healers. "She is a Firebender. I can feel the spark in her blood, but... it is acting like a vacuum."

She turned to Zuko. "My Lord, the warming blankets are ineffective. The heat is not being rejected; it is being... consumed. Whatever is happening inside her, it is eating the energy we put in." Yura looked fearful. "It is like trying to heat a black hole. If this continues, her heart will simply stop. A firebender cannot survive at this temperature."

Zuko looked at Nia. He looked at her pale, grey skin. He remembered the "Void" she spoke of. He remembered the white lightning, and he realized then that Yura couldn't fix this because Yura treated Fire. Nia didn't bend Fire.

"She's not a Firebender," Zuko said quietly.

Yura blinked. "My Lord? She is of House Tang. The logs say she generates lightning."

"It's not lightning," Zuko said. He stood up, pacing the small space beside the bed. He had to explain the impossible science Nia had taught him. "Standard lightning generation requires the separation of energies: Yin and Yang. You clash them together to create the bolt."

He looked at Yura, his eyes intense. "Nia doesn't clash them. She... she strips them."

Zuko grabbed a piece of parchment from the bedside table—a medical chart—and a piece of charcoal. He drew a crude diagram. A circle. Then he drew dots pulling away from it. "She told me once. She calls it Plasma. She separates the energy in the air itself. She strips the... the negative charge from the positive."

Yura looked at the drawing, confused. "That is... theoretically impossible. The strain on the Chi paths..."

"Exactly," Zuko interrupted. "To do it, she has to empty herself completely. She has to become a Void. No emotion, no heat, just a vessel for the energy to pass through."

He dropped the charcoal and looked at Nia’s unconscious form. "When she jumped... she didn't just bend the energy around her. She used her own body as the conduit. She stripped her own heat to fuel the blast."

Zuko’s voice cracked. "She didn't just break her ribs, Yura. She turned her own soul into fuel. She’s not sick. She’s... she’s empty. She gave everything she had to stop that bolt."

Yura stared at him. The medical implication horrified her. "If she stripped her own Chi to create this 'Plasma'..." Yura whispered, "Then there is nothing left to kindle. We are feeding wood to a fire that has no spark."

"So how do we relight it?" Zuko demanded.

Yura looked down. "We don't. A healer can fan a flame, My Lord. We cannot create one from nothing, only the Spirits can do that."

Chapter Text

Zuko stared at Nia’s grey face. His mind was racing. Spirits. The Avatar.

"Get me a hawk," Zuko snapped. "I need to send a message to the South Pole."

Yura looked at him with pity. "My Lord... a hawk will take four days to reach the South Pole. Even if the Avatar leaves immediately on his bison, the return trip is two weeks. She does not have two weeks, she barely has two days."

Zuko froze. He looked at the map on the wall. The distance between the Capital and the South Pole was an ocean. It was a math problem. Distance = Velocity x Time. Variable X = Nia’s fading heartbeat. Result = Death.

"Inefficient," Zuko whispered, realizing he was using her word.

He slammed his fist against the wall. Smoke hissed from the impact. "Think, Zuko! Think!"

He looked at the flame in the oil lamp. It flickered. Fire is life, Uncle Iroh had told him. It is not just destruction. It is the sun. It is energy.

Who taught Iroh that? Who taught Zuko that? The Masters.

Zuko looked at the map again. The Ancient Sun Warrior Ruins were not across an entire ocean. They were hidden in the Fire Nation archipelago. By airship, at maximum velocity? They would only take 6 hours.

He turned to Yura. "She doesn't need a Spirit bender," Zuko said, his eyes narrowing. "She needs a jump start. She needs the Source."

"My Lord?"

"I'm not waiting for the Avatar," Zuko said, scooping Nia up into his arms. She was terrifyingly light. "We are going to the Dragons."

Yura gasped. "The Dragons are extinct! Your family hunted them all down!"

"Not all of them," Zuko said, heading for the door.

He looked down at Nia’s face. "Hang on," he whispered. "I know two guys. We're going to get your fire back."

***

The engines of the airship roared, a deafening, rhythmic thrum that vibrated through the steel hull. Zuko stood on the observation deck. The wind at this altitude was brutal, whipping his hair back and stinging his eyes. He stripped off his bloodstained ceremonial armor, leaving him in just his tunic and trousers, but he didn't feel the cold. He was burning with adrenaline.

Below deck, in the captain's quarters, Nia was wrapped in six wool blankets. The room was sweltering. Zuko had ordered the engineers to divert heat from the engine exhaust directly into the cabin, turning it into a sauna. The crew was sweating buckets, while Nia was still shivering.

"Altitude dropping, Fire Lord!" the Captain shouted over the comms tube. "We are approaching the coordinates… but... sir, there's nothing here. Just jungle and ruins."

Zuko looked out the window. Below them, rising from the mist like jagged teeth, were the ancient Ziggurats of the Sun Warriors. "It’s not nothing," Zuko muttered. "It’s the beginning."

"Prepare for landing!" Zuko ordered. "Set us down on the beach. If you snap a strut, I don't care. Just get us on the ground."

The massive airship descended, its shadow swallowing the ancient stone beach. The propellers kicked up a sandstorm. The landing gear hit the sand with a heavy THUD that shook the entire frame.

The ramp lowered. Zuko didn't wait for his guard. He walked down the ramp, carrying Nia in his arms. She was a dead weight, her head lolling against his shoulder.

He stepped onto the sand. The jungle went silent. The mechanical roar of the airship engines died down, leaving an eerie quiet.

Thwack. Thwack. Two spears hit the sand directly in front of Zuko’s boots, crossing to form an X.

A dozen warriors emerged from the foliage. They wore gold and red clothing, along with red ink patterned in their faces. They held flames in their palms, not the angry orange of the modern Fire Nation, but a deep, controlled crimson.

"Halt!" the Sun Warrior Chief barked. "This is sacred ground. Return to your metal bird, Outsider, or burn."

Zuko didn't flinch. He didn't drop Nia. He dropped to one knee. A Fire Lord bowing to a tribe that officially didn't exist.

"I am Zuko," he announced, his voice cracking with exhaustion. "Student of the Dragon. I stood before Ran and Shaw. I carry their mark." He looked up, his golden eyes desperate. "I am not here as a ruler. I am here as a beggar... She is dying."

The Chief stepped forward. He tilted his headpiece. He looked at the girl in Zuko’s arms: pale, grey, and lifeless. He felt the unnatural cold radiating off her, chilling the tropical air.

"She has no fire," the Chief observed. "She is a husk."

"She gave it away," Zuko rasped. "She used it all to save me. Please… She needs the Source."

The warriors murmured. They looked at the massive steel airship far away from Zuko, a symbol of the world that had forgotten them, and then at the boy kneeling in the sand. The Chief looked up at the Eternal Flame burning at the top of the great pyramid.

"The Masters will decide," the Chief said. "Bring her to the Altar."

The pyramid was steep. Hundreds of steps carved from volcanic rock, reaching toward the sun. Zuko carried her. His legs burned. His lungs screamed. He hadn't slept or eaten in hours, but he didn't stop.

Step. 

"You aren't quitting, Nia." 

Step. 

"Inefficient." 

Step. "I am carrying you up a mountain. You better appreciate this."

He reached the top. The plateau was open to the sky. Two massive caves flanked the area. In the center burned the Eternal Flame, a fire that had been kept alive for thousands of years. It swirled with colors: blue, green, purple, gold.

"Lay her down," the Chief ordered.

Zuko placed Nia on the warm stone altar. She looked terrible against the vibrant life of this place. She was a black-and-white sketch in a color painting.

"Her Chi is stripped," the Chief noted, hovering his hand over her heart. "She practiced the cold art: the lightning."

"Plasma," Zuko corrected breathlessly. "She calls it Plasma."

"It matters not what she calls it," the Chief said. "She emptied her vessel to hold the bolt. Now the vessel is cracking." He looked at the caves. "We cannot fill her, Zuko of the Fire Nation. We are but keepers, only the Masters can breathe life into a void."

The Chief turned to the drummers. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. The sound vibrated in Zuko’s chest.

"Face the caves!" the Chief commanded.

Zuko stood by Nia’s head. He gripped her freezing hand. "Please," he whispered to the darkness. "Don't eat us. Just help her."

A low rumble shook the mountain. From the left cave: Ran, The Red Dragon: Massive, winding, scales shimmering like rubies. From the right cave: Shaw, The Blue Dragon: Sleek, terrifying, eyes glowing with ancient intelligence.

They swirled around the plateau, their bodies creating a vortex of wind. They landed on either side of the altar. They looked at Zuko. They recognized him. The boy who learned the Dancing Dragon. Then, they looked at Nia.

They hissed. They recoiled. To a dragon, cold was death, because it was anti-life. Nia felt like a hole in the world. Ran opened his maw, smoke curling out. Shaw growled, stepping closer, teeth bared.

"They sense the Void," the Chief warned, stepping back. "They reject it. They perceive her as a threat to the Flame."

"No!" Zuko threw himself between the dragons and Nia. He spread his arms wide. "She isn't the Void! She isn't empty!"

Zuko looked the massive blue dragon in the eye. "She is full! She is full of math, and maps, and stupid laws about tariffs! She likes bad theater! She worries about farmers she’s never met!"

Zuko’s voice broke. Tears streamed down his face, evaporating instantly in the heat of the dragons. "She is the warmest person I know. She just... she forgot how to show it. She gave it all to me." He fell to his knees beside her, grabbing her hand. "Don't reject her. Please. She's my... she's my balance."

The Dragons paused. They looked at the boy who was willing to fight the gods for a ghost. They looked at each other, and Ran and Shaw nodded.

They moved. They began to spin. A double-helix of red and blue scales. They opened their mouths. They didn't breathe fire, they breathed Light.

A stream of rainbow energy—gold, purple, green, white—poured from their maws. It spiraled down, surrounding Zuko and Nia in a tornado of pure life force.

"She is a closed vessel!" the Sun Warrior Chief shouted over the roar. "You must open the circuit, Zuko! Connect her Chi to yours!"

Zuko didn't hesitate. He didn't kiss her, because that would be too small and inappropriate for the moment. He crawled onto the altar, straddling her legs to shield her body with his own. He placed his right hand directly over her heart. He placed his left hand on her forehead.

Then, he lowered his head until his forehead pressed against hers: The Fire Sage’s Bow. The sharing of the mind. The sharing of the breath.

"Breathe," Zuko whispered against her skin. "Come on, Nia. Breathe with me."

Zuko inhaled. He didn't just breathe air. He inhaled the Rainbow Fire swirling around them. He pulled the ancient energy into his own lungs, superheating his own blood until he felt like he was burning alive. He became the filter. He became the transformer.

He exhaled. He didn't blow air on her. He pushed the energy out through his hands and his forehead. He forced his own Chi to jump the gap.

ZAP.

It wasn't lightning. It was a spark. A visible arc of gold energy jumped from Zuko’s forehead into Nia’s. Another jumped from his palm into her heart.

The Void inside Nia fought back. It was cold. It was vast. It tried to eat the heat. Zuko gritted his teeth. He poured more. He showed her the memory of the boat. He showed her the blanket fort. He showed her the look on Shinu’s face when she destroyed him with math. Feel this, he projected into her mind. This is life. Logic is cold. Life is messy and hot. Take it.

The Rainbow Fire intensified. The colors began to bleed into Nia’s grey skin. Violet seeped into her veins. Green knit the bones of her ribs. Gold flooded her heart.

Thump.

Zuko felt it under his palm. A single, strong beat. The cold shattered. Nia’s back arched off the stone, her mouth opening in a silent gasp as the air rushed back into her lungs.

Her eyes flew open. They weren't just gold anymore. For a split second, they swirled with the Prismatic Fire, a galaxy of color in her irises, before settling back into a deep, molten amber.

Zuko pulled back, gasping, his own energy drained. He slumped sitting back on his heels, his chest heaving. The Dragons roared one last time and spiraled up into the clouds, their job done.

Nia lay there, breathing hard. Steam, actual steam, was rising from her skin. She blinked, looking at the sky, then at Zuko. She felt... full, not just alive, but overcharged.

She sat up, slowly. Her ribs didn't hurt, and her lungs didn't wheeze. She looked at her hands. They were glowing faintly with a residual warmth.

She looked at Zuko. He was a mess. His hair was wild, he was shirtless (having used his tunic to wipe her face earlier), and he was crying silent tears of relief.

"Zuko?" she whispered. Her voice wasn't raspy. It was clear, resonant.

Zuko let out a choked laugh, wiping his eyes with his wrist. "You're inefficient," he managed to say, his voice thick with emotion. "You are the most inefficient Minister I have ever met."

Nia looked at him. She reached out, she placed her warm, hot, hand on his cheek. She wiped a tear away with her thumb.

"The calculation was flawed," she admitted softly, a small, genuine smile breaking through her mask. "I forgot to account for the variable of... stubbornness."

Zuko closed his eyes, just breathing in the fact that she was warm. "Don't do it again," he whispered. "That's an order."

"Yes, Fire Lord," she whispered back.

They stayed there on the altar, high above the world, bathed in the warmth of the sun, neither of them daring to move, letting the silence say everything the politics couldn't.

***

Nia sat on a stone bench, wrapped in a blanket she no longer needed. She was drinking herbal tea from a clay cup, and she held her hand up to the sun. She didn't just feel the warmth; she felt the vibration of it. 

"Fascinating," she murmured. "My cellular regeneration rate has accelerated, and the residual energy in my Chi paths is acting like a hyper-charged battery."

Zuko, who was sitting on the ground next to her eating a mango, rolled his eyes affectionately. "You just came back from the dead, Nia. Can you stop being an accountant for five minutes?"

"I am a scientist, Fire Lord," she corrected, taking a sip of tea. "And this data is anomalous. I need to understand it."

The Sun Warrior Chief approached them. He didn't bow, he just looked at Nia with intense curiosity.

"You are the Cold One," the Chief said. It wasn't an insult; it was a categorization.

Nia set her cup down. She stood up, a little shaky, but dignified. She bowed formally, the way she would to a High Sage. "I am Minister Nia Tang. Thank you for... the recharge."

The Chief chuckled. "Recharge. You speak of the Spirit as if it were a machine."

"Is it not?" Nia asked. "It has inputs, it has outputs, and it has a capacity limit." She touched her chest, where the lightning had almost killed her. "I exceeded the limit. I calculated that I could strip the ionization from the air to negate the bolt, but I failed to account for the thermal draw on my own body."

The Chief raised an eyebrow. "Strip the ionization?"

Nia’s eyes lit up. She loved explaining this. "Standard lightning generation requires the collision of Yin and Yang energies to create a bolt," she explained, using her hands to demonstrate. "It is explosive, projective."

She brought her hands together, palms facing but not touching. "My technique is reductive. I do not crash the energies, I separate them. I strip the positive charge from the atmosphere, creating a vacuum of pure negative plasma." She looked at the Chief intensely. "It is highly efficient. It requires no wind-up, but... it is endothermic."

"Endothermic," the Chief repeated, tasting the word.

"It absorbs heat," Nia translated. "Since the air has no heat to give in that split second, the reaction pulls it from the nearest source." She pointed to herself. "Me."

The Chief stared at her. Then, a slow smile spread across his face. "The Hungry Fire," he said softly.

Nia blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"In the ancient days," the Chief said, sitting down on the bench opposite her. "Before the Fire Nation forgot its ways... there were those who sought to bend the fire without the sun. They sought to pull it from the dark." He traced a circle in the dust. "They created a fire that did not burn fuel. It burned the bender. It was cold, it was white. It was... hungry."

Nia leaned forward. "Did they survive?"

"No," the Chief said simply. "They froze. Their hearts stopped. Just as yours did." He looked at Zuko, then back at Nia. "You are the first to survive the hunger, because you had a life before to feed you."

Nia looked at the diagram in the dirt. "So, my 'Plasma' is historically documented?"

"It is a shadow art," the Chief agreed. "You found it through mathematics, our ancestors found it through greed, but the result is the same." He looked at her with new respect. "You have a dangerous mind, Minister Tang. You looked at the lightning, the weapon of the Royal Family, and you decided to take it apart."

"Actually," Nia admitted. "My father could do the same thing, but he could also bend fire. He only showed me the plasma once."

“He was a prodigy, too. He mastered all styles by age eight. He was faster than everyone else, hotter than everyone else." She traced the rim of her clay cup. "One day... I was watching him train in the courtyard. He was practicing a standard form, but he moved too fast. He stripped the air. For a second... the fire didn't turn orange. It turned white."

Zuko froze. "He could do it?"

"He stopped immediately," Nia said. "He looked terrified. He grabbed me and told me never to move that way. He said, 'Nia, fire must breathe. If you choke it, it eats you.'"

She looked up at the Eternal Flame. "He knew, Chief. He knew the Hungry Fire. And he spent his whole life holding it back."

Nia felt a tear slip down her cheek. "He was killed by Azulon," she whispered. "His own men killed him. If he had used the Plasma... he could have vaporized them. He could have saved himself."

"But he would have lost himself," the Chief corrected. "The Hunger takes the soul before it takes the body. He chose to die a man, rather than live as a monster."

Nia wiped the tear away. "Inefficient," she muttered, but there was no bite in it. Only pride.

The Chief nodded solemnly. "It is a burden of the blood," the Chief said. "Some are born with a spark. Some are born with a void. Your father carried the void, and he chose not to feed it. That makes him a Master of a different kind."

He reached into his belt and pulled out a small, carved obsidian stone. He handed it to her. "You carry his blood, Minister Tang. You carry the Hunger. But now, you carry the Dragon's Light as well." He closed her fingers over the stone. "Do not be like your ancestors who froze in the dark. Be like your father. Know the Hunger, but choose the Sun."

Nia gripped the warm stone. "I will," she promised.

Zuko watched her. He realized he didn't just save his Minister. He saved the daughter of a man who was a hero in more ways than one. He reached out and took her other hand. "We're going to figure this out," Zuko said firmly. "The hunger, the plasma, all of it. You aren't doing it alone."

Nia smiled at him. "Hypothesis accepted."

***

Location: The Beach (Near the Royal Airship). Time: Sunset.

The crew was prepping the airship for departure. Nia stood by the water’s edge. She was wearing a loose linen shirt. She looked healthy, her cheeks were pink, and her eyes bright.

However, she was staring at her hands with a deep, brooding frown.

"Nia," Zuko called out, walking down the ramp with a basket of fruit. "We launch in ten minutes. Stop staring at your hands. You aren't going to spontaneously combust."

"No," Nia murmured. "According to the Chief's theory, I should spontaneously freeze." She turned to Zuko. "I need to test the output."

Zuko stopped chewing his mango. "No. Absolutely not. You just got your pilot light back. We are not blowing it out."

"Zuko, listen," Nia said, her voice dropping into that rapid-fire lecture mode she used when explaining tax brackets. "The Dragons refilled my Chi reserves. They introduced a high-frequency energy (The Rainbow Fire) into a system designed for negative-pressure generation (The Plasma)." She held up a finger. "If I don't vent the system, the pressure could build up. It is safer to test it in a controlled environment than to explode during a cabinet meeting."

Zuko groaned. He hated when she made sense. "Fine," he pointed to a cluster of wet rocks by the tide line. "Aim at those, but you get one shot. If you turn blue, I'm carrying you back to the altar."

Nia stood before the rocks. She took a deep breath. She felt the warmth inside her, the Dragon Fire. It felt different than her old fire. It felt heavy and anchored.

She decided to try the standard firebending punch. She rooted her feet, and she punched. Phhhht. Nothing happened. A tiny puff of grey smoke, like a blown-out candle. "Null result on standard combustion," Nia noted. "My Chi still refuses to ignite via friction."

"Okay, good," Zuko said. "You're a non-bender. Let's go home."

"Option two," Nia said.

She shifted her stance. She dropped her center of gravity. She moved her hands in the reductive motion, separating the air, stripping the charge. The move that broke her ribs. The Plasma Stance.

"Nia, don't," Zuko warned, stepping forward.

Nia ignored him. She focused on the air between her palms. She pulled. She expected the crushing weight on her chest. She expected the cold to bite into her marrow. She expected the Void to eat her alive.

Instead... she felt a hum. A deep, resonant vibration in her chest, like a purring cat. The Dragon Fire inside her didn't fight the cold; it fed it. It wrapped around the vacuum like a containment field.

SNAP.

A ball of fire appeared between her hands. It wasn't orange. It wasn't the jagged, unstable white bolt she used in the plaza. It was a perfect, spherical orb of Silver-White Plasma. It didn't flicker, or didn't crackle. It hummed.

The air around the orb froze instantly. Moisture in the tropical air crystallized, falling as snow, but Nia? Nia was warm.

She stood there, holding a ball of sub-zero devastation between her bare hands, and she felt fine.

Nia stared at the orb. She blinked. She wiggled her fingers.

"What..." she whispered. She pushed her hands forward. The orb launched. WHOOSH. It hit the wet rocks. There was no explosion. No fire. The rocks simply vanished—or rather, they were flash-frozen and then shattered into dust by the thermal shock. A cloud of ice fog rolled over the water.

Nia stood in the steam. She checked her pulse. Thump-thump. Steady. She touched her face. Warm.

"Inconceivable," Nia whispered.

Zuko ran over to her, checking her face, grabbing her hands. "Are you cold? Are you dizzy?"

"I'm... functional," Nia said, looking at her hands in utter confusion. "My core temperature didn't drop. My heart rate is stable." She looked at the pile of frozen dust that used to be a boulder. "I just stripped the ionization from some air, created a zero-point energy reaction, and... nothing happened to me."

"The Dragons," Zuko breathed, looking at the ice fog. "They insulated you."

"Insulation?" Nia scoffed, pacing back and forth in the sand. "That defies thermodynamics! Energy has to come from somewhere! If I'm not providing the heat, where is it coming from?"

She stopped. She touched her chest. She felt the hum again: The Rainbow Fire. "They turned me into a perpetual motion machine," she realized, horror and awe warring in her voice. "Zuko... I'm a battery that recharges itself."

Zuko laughed. He sounded a little hysterical. "So, you can shoot the death-fire, but it doesn't kill you anymore?"

"Apparently," Nia said, looking at a palm tree. "I am a stable reactor." She looked at Zuko. "This is statistically improbable, and... extremely efficient."

They walked back up the ramp. The crew stared at the disintegrated rock, and decided not to ask questions.

As the airship lifted off, banking west toward the Capital, Nia stood by the window. She held the small obsidian stone the Chief had given her. She thought of her father, Shareen. He had died trying to repress the Hunger. She had survived because she had found a source that was stronger than the Hunger.

"Zuko," Nia said, not looking away from the horizon.

"Yeah?"

"When we get back... I need to draft a new budget proposal."

Zuko groaned, leaning his head against the wall. "We just defied death, Nia. Can we not talk about the budget?"

"No," Nia said, turning to him. Her golden eyes were sharp, glowing with that new, strange energy. "We need to increase the funding for the Arts, and... I want to rewrite the Fire Academy curriculum. No more suppressing dangerous techniques. We teach them control, and we teach them the physics."

Zuko looked at her. The Shoji Shark was back, but she wasn't cold anymore. She was electric.

"Okay," Zuko smiled. "We'll rewrite the curriculum. But first... noodles."

"Agreed," Nia nodded. "Noodles are a necessary fuel source."

Chapter Text

Location: The Fire Nation Royal Throne Room. Time: Evening (The Gloaming).

The mood in the throne room was somber, but administratively so. The torches were lit, casting long, flickering shadows against the tapestries. High Sage Ukano stood at the foot of the dais, holding a long scroll. Around him stood the Council of Sages and General Shinu, who looked like he was trying very hard to hide a smile.

"The funeral arrangements for Minister Tang are scheduled for Tuesday," Sage Ukano intoned, his voice echoing in the cavernous room. "Lady Keres has sent word from her estate that she will not be attending the preliminary rites. She has... delegated the task to the mortuary guild."

General Shinu stepped forward, puffing out his chest. "A tragedy. truly. She was young, fragile." He looked at the empty seat to the right of the throne, which was Nia’s seat. "But the Ministry of Economics cannot remain vacant, Sages. The markets are jittery, the Earth Kingdom trade deal requires a steady hand, not a... memory." He bowed slightly to the empty throne. "I am willing to step in. As a temporary measure, of course, until a suitable replacement is found."

Sage Ukano nodded gravely. "It is unorthodox, General, but these are desperate times. The Fire Lord has been gone for almost two days, likely grieving in isolation. When he returns, we must present him with a solution, not a void."

Shinu grinned. He walked toward Nia’s seat. He reached out to pick up the ivory seal of the Minister. "Then it is decided. I shall draft the reinstatement order immediately."

BOOM.

The heavy bronze doors of the throne room didn't just open; they were thrown wide with enough force to rattle the wall sconces. The Sages jumped and Shinu froze, his hand hovering inches from the seal.

Zuko strode in. He didn't look like a grieving boy, but rather like a King who had just fought a spirit and won. His hair was windblown from the airship ride. He was wearing his travel tunic, not his ceremonial robes, and he looked exhausted, sunburned, and furious.

"Lord Zuko!" Sage Ukano gasped, bowing hastily. "We... we did not expect you to return so soon! We thought you were..."

"Mourning?" Zuko finished, his voice cutting through the room. He marched toward the dais. "I leave for thirty six hours to handle a medical emergency, and I come back to find you carving up my cabinet like vultures."

"My Lord," Shinu stepped back, looking nervous. "We were merely ensuring the stability of the nation! With the tragic loss of Minister Tang..."

"Loss?" Zuko stopped at the foot of the stairs. A dark, dangerous smile played on his lips. "Who said anything about a loss?"

Shinu blinked. "But... the reports. The lightning. She was crushed. The healers said she was cold."

"She was," Zuko agreed. He turned back toward the open doors. "Minister! If you would."

A figure stepped out from the shadows of the archway. She wasn't wearing the black silk robes of the House Tang, because those were ruined in the blast. She was wearing simple, un-dyed linen trousers and a tunic borrowed from an airship engineer, cinched with a sash. It was humble clothing, but the person wearing it was not humble.

Nia walked into the light. She didn't look pale or grey. Her skin had a faint, healthy flush, and her hair was pulled back, revealing the sharp, intelligent angles of her face, and her eyes... (The Sages gasped) seemed to hum. There was a depth to them, a clarity that hadn't been there before. She didn't walk with the terrified, light step of the "Ghost", she walked with a stride that was smooth, grounded, and terrifyingly silent.

She didn't carry a fan, she carried a new clipboard.

"General Shinu," Nia said. Her voice wasn't the raspy whisper of the dying girl in the infirmary. It was clear and resonant and cut through the room like a bell. "I believe that seal belongs to me."

The silence in the room was absolute. Shinu looked like he was seeing a spirit. He stumbled back, knocking over a inkwell. "You..." Shinu stammered, pointing a shaking finger. "You died! I saw it! The pillar... your ribs..."

"The structural damage was significant," Nia stated simply, walking past him to stand at the right hand of the throne, her rightful place. She picked up the ivory seal Shinu had been reaching for. She checked it for dust. "However, the healers were operating on incomplete data. They treated a firebender for hypothermia." She looked up, locking eyes with Shinu. "I required... recalibration."

Sage Ukano stared at her, his mouth hanging open. "Recalibration? Lady Tang, you were clinically deceased!"

"Inefficient diagnosis," Nia dismissed, tapping her clipboard. "I was merely rebooting."

She turned to Zuko, who had ascended the throne and sat down. He looked at her with a mixture of pride and relief. "Minister Tang," Zuko said, his voice warm. "What is the status of the funeral arrangements?"

Nia looked at the scroll Ukano was holding. "I reviewed the budget Lady Keres approved in absentia," Nia said. "Excessive expenditure on white lilies, and the catering estimate is inflated by thirty percent." She looked at the Sages. "Cancel it. I have no intention of dying this fiscal quarter. It would be... counter-productive."

Shinu turned purple. The shock was wearing off, replaced by indignation. "Fire Lord! You let this... this ghost insult the Council? She has been gone for two days! She is clearly unstable! Look at her! She is glowing!"

Nia looked at her hands. They were, indeed, glowing with a faint, violet luminescence due to the residual energy of the Dragons. She closed her hand, extinguishing the light. "I am not unstable, General," Nia said softly. "I am fully charged."

She stepped down one step, looming over him. "Regarding your petition to reinstate your command..." She glanced at Zuko. "Denied," Nia said. "Based on your performance review last week, and your eagerness to capitalize on my temporary absence, I am recommending another transfer."

"Transfer?" Shinu sputtered. "To where?"

"The Coal Mines of the Northern District," Nia said smoothly. "We need a supervisor for the ash-sifters, I believe your skills are perfectly suited for... waste management."

Shinu roared. "I will not be spoken to like this by a failed firebender!" He lit his fists. Orange fire flared in the dim room. The Sages shouted. Guards stepped forward.

Nia didn't flinch. She didn't call for guards. She just looked at the fire in his hands. She felt the hunger in her gut, the "Void" that used to eat her alive, but now, the Void was full. The Dragon Fire inside her hummed.

"Put it out, Shinu," Nia said. Her voice dropped to a low, dangerous register. "Or I will put it out for you, and I won't use water."

Shinu looked at her eyes. He saw the violet flash deep in the gold. He remembered the white lightning in the plaza. The fire in his hands sputtered and died. Fear, cold and sharp, doused his anger.

He bowed stiffly. "As you command... Minister." He turned and fled the room, his boots echoing loudly on the obsidian floor.

The Sages stood in stunned silence. "Are there any other matters?" Zuko asked, leaning back in his throne.

"N-no, Fire Lord," Ukano stammered. "We will... cancel the lilies."

"Good," Zuko said. "Leave us."

The Sages scurried out like turtle-ducks fleeing a hawk. The doors boomed shut.

Nia let out a long breath. She leaned against the dais, her legs suddenly feeling a little shaky. "That was..." she started.

"Efficient," Zuko finished for her, grinning.

Nia looked up at him. She looked at the empty gallery where Keres sat. "She wasn't here," Nia whispered.

"No," Zuko said, walking down the steps to stand next to her. "She thought you were gone. She wrote you off."

Nia touched the obsidian stone in her pocket. "She made a calculation," Nia said. "She calculated that I was a broken asset." She looked at Zuko, her eyes bright and alive. "She miscalculated."

Zuko took her hand. It was warm. "Come on," he said. "The cook made noodles, and I think we both need about twelve bowls."

"Thirteen," Nia corrected, squeezing his hand. "I have a metabolic deficit to correct."

***

Later that night…

The table was covered in empty bowls. Nia placed the twelfth bowl down with a satisfied sigh. She wiped her mouth with a napkin, her movements precise even when gorging on carbs. "Efficiency restored," she announced. "Metabolic deficit neutralized."

Zuko sat across from her, leaning on his hand, just watching her. He had only eaten four bowls. "You are terrifying," Zuko said, a small smile playing on his lips. "In the court, and at the dinner table."

"I require fuel," Nia said defensively. "Calculations consume significant caloric energy." She looked at her hands. The faint violet glow had faded, but her skin still felt warm. "It felt... different," she admitted quietly. "In the throne room, when I extinguished Shinu's fire... I didn't feel the cold, I felt... a hum."

"I saw it," Zuko said softly. "Your eyes... they turned purple for a second, like the Dragons." He reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers. "You aren't just a battery, Nia. You're a prism. You took the anger in the room and you turned it into control."

Nia looked at him. The "Shoji Shark" was gone. She was just Nia. "I like being a prism," she whispered. "It sounds... pretty."

A sharp noise at the window interrupted them. Zuko stood up. A messenger hawk was perched on the sill. It wasn't a Fire Nation hawk; it was a snowy white hawk with blue beads braided into its feathers. "It's from the South Pole," Zuko said, untying the scroll. "It's Sokka's seal."

He handed it to Nia. "It's addressed to you."

Nia took the scroll. Her heart hammered. She broke the wax seal and unrolled it. Sokka’s handwriting was messy, erratic, and frantic.

To Minister Nia (The Science Sister),

You aren't going to believe this. Toph found a ship. Well, she found a metal box under the ice, but it turned out to be a Fire Nation Cruiser. Nia... it was your dad's ship.

Nia stopped breathing. Zuko moved closer, his hand hovering near her back.

We went inside. It wasn't a wreck. It was a library. He saved everything, Nia; the scrolls, the parkas, the songs. He hid them in the hull to protect them from the raids. I found his logbook, where he wrote that he couldn't burn history. He said, 'A soldier destroys, but a warrior protects.'

Nia’s hands began to shake. A tear splattered onto the paper.

Your grandmother was wrong. He wasn't weak. He was the bravest man I never met. The Elders are calling him a hero. Thought you should know. The math worked out.

- Sokka

P.S. Toph says 'You're welcome for the heavy lifting.'

Nia lowered the letter. She stared at the empty bowls. All her life, Keres had told her that her father was a failure. That he died because he hesitated. That his softness killed him. But he hadn't hesitated. He had chosen. He had chosen art over war. He had chosen to be a human being.

"Nia?" Zuko asked gently.

Nia looked up. Tears were streaming down her face, but she wasn't hiding them and wasn't wiping them away "efficiently." She was letting them fall. "

He wasn't weak," Nia whispered, her voice breaking. "He saved them."

She handed the letter to Zuko. "He didn't die for nothing, Zuko, he died for this." She gestured to the room, to the peace, to the fact that a Water Tribe boy was writing to a Fire Nation girl.

Zuko read the letter. He looked at Nia. He didn't say anything, he just pulled her out of her chair and into his arms. He held her tight, letting her cry into his shoulder, letting her heat mix with his.

"He would be so proud of you," Zuko whispered into her hair. "You're doing exactly what he did. You're saving the future."

Nia clung to him. The cold void was gone, and the hunger was gone. She was warm, full, and she was finally, truly, home.

***

Tang Estate. Nighttime 

The Tang Estate was quiet… it was always quiet. Irina sat by the window. She was a beautiful woman, though her beauty had the fragile, translucent quality of a moth wing. She was fifty five years old, but her sage green eyes looked ancient and empty. She was embroidering a piece of silk. The needle went in, the needle came out. In. Out. In. Out. She hadn't spoken a full sentence in three years, not since Nia left for the University. To Irina, Nia was safe as long as she was gone; distance was safety.

The door to the solar opened. Irina didn't look up. The rhythm of the needle didn't change.

Lady Keres entered. Usually, Keres walked with a calm, predatory grace. Tonight, her cane struck the floor with violence. Thud. Thud. She smelled of smoke, like she had just come from burning the white lilies in the garden.

"Inefficient," Keres hissed to herself, pacing the room. "The audacity. The sheer, unmitigated lack of discipline."

Irina continued to stitch. A blue thread, a gold thread.

Keres stopped in front of her daughter. She looked down at Irina with unmasked contempt. "Stop that infernal stitching, Irina."

Irina’s hand paused. She didn't look up.

"Did you know?" Keres demanded.

Irina blinked slowly. "Know... what, mother?" Her voice was rusty, unused.

Keres threw a crumpled scroll onto Irina’s lap. "Your daughter," Keres spat. "She is not dead."

Irina’s heart skipped a beat, like a physical pain in her chest. Nia. She hadn't allowed herself to think of the name, because thinking of the name brought fear. "I... I was told there was an accident," Irina whispered. "The lightning."

"There was," Keres snapped. "She should be dead. She was cold, I saw her…a broken vessel." Keres walked to the window, staring out at the dark grounds. "She came back to the Royal Palace. She dismissed General Shinu and insulted him." Keres gripped the handle of her cane until her knuckles turned white. "She is glowing, Irina, she has done something to herself, something... unnatural. She stood at the right hand of the Fire Lord and looked at the High Council like they were insects."

Irina looked down at the scroll in her lap, and began to remember her daughter: her wavy, dark auburn hair, her gorgeous golden eyes, her light tan skin, the dimples on her face, her tall frame. She reminded him too much of Shareen, in almost every way. Now, she wondered what she looked like now, or if she had changed. Can she blow White Fire like her husband? Does she speak like him? What does she like?

"She is the Minister of Economics," Keres sneered. "She thinks she wields power, she thinks she has escaped my design." Keres turned back to Irina. "She is reckless, just like her father. She will burn herself out, and when she does, I will not be there to sweep up the ash."

Keres waited for a reaction. Tears? Panic? An apology? Irina stared at the scroll. "She isn't reckless," Irina whispered.

Keres stiffened. "What did you say?"

Irina looked up. For the first time in years, the fog in her eyes cleared, just a fraction. "Shareen wasn't reckless," Irina said, her voice gaining a tiny tremor of strength. "He was kind, and you hated him for it."

Keres’s eyes narrowed. The air in the room grew cold. "Do not speak his name in this house."

Irina looked back at the scroll with the message, remembering the daughter who had somehow, miraculously, protected herself. Nia had survived the lightning. She had survived Keres. She survived us.

Keres broke the silence. "She is… different now… she is a monster."

"No," Irina said, picking up her needle again. She looked at the embroidery. It was a dragon. "She is a Tang."

Keres stared at her, unsettled by this sudden spark of lucidity. She scoffed again, turned on her heel, and marched out of the room, slamming the door.

The silence returned, but it felt different now. Irina looked at the scroll one last time. She folded it carefully and tucked it inside her dress, against her heart, and she picked up the needle. In. Out. In. Out.

A single tear rolled down her cheek. It wasn't a tear of grief. It was a tear of relief. Fly, Irina thought, sending the thought out into the night toward the Palace. Don't come back here, little one. Never come back.

***
Location: The Tang Estate, The Sun Room. Time: 89 AG (Nia is 7 years old).

Nia was seven years old, sitting on a velvet stool that was too high for her legs to reach the floor. She was holding a flat iron that was cold, staring at her reflection with a scowl. Outside, she could hear shouting, happy shouting. Her father, Shareen, and her older brother, Seraim, were playing in the courtyard, the sound of a firebending sparring match, punctuated by laughter, drifted through the window.

"Oh, little one," a soft voice cooed. "Why the long face?"

Irina Tang walked in. She didn't look like the ghost she was now. She was vibrant. Her silk robe was a deep, rich wine, and her eyes were clear and bright. She smelled like rain and jasmine.

"I want it straight," Nia grumbled, pulling at a lock of her thick, wavy auburn hair. "Like the girls in the Royal Academy portraits. They look... efficient, tidy."

Irina laughed, a sound Nia hadn't heard in years. She took the brush from the vanity. "Tidy?" Irina teased, spinning the stool around. "Who told you the ocean was tidy? Who told you fire was tidy?"

She began to brush Nia’s hair. She was gentle. She didn't yank the tangles; she worked them out with a patience that felt like love. "You don't have straight lines, Nia," Irina whispered, smoothing the dark waves. "You have currents. Like the tides your father loves. Like the smoke from the dragon-breath."

Nia looked in the mirror. Her hair was poofy. It was wild. It refused to lie flat against her head. "It takes up too much space," Nia whispered.

Irina paused. She leaned down, wrapping her arms around Nia’s shoulders, resting her chin on top of Nia’s head. "Good," Irina said fiercely. "Take up space, Nia. Never shrink, never burn it straight just to fit into a frame."

She kissed Nia’s cheek. "Promise me," she whispered. "Promise me you will keep your waves. They are the only part of you that cannot be ruled."

"I promise," seven-year-old Nia whispered.

Outside, Shareen laughed, and Seraim called out for his little sister to come watch a new move. The sun was shining, the family was whole, and Keres was just a distant name in a letter, and the war was something that happened to other people.

***

Location: The Fire Nation Palace, Guest Quarters. Time: Late Night (103 AG).

Nia stood before the mirror in the guest quarters. She held the brush in her hand. For the last nine years, she had slicked her hair back with heavy oil, pulled it into a tight, severe bun, and pinned it until her scalp ached. It was efficient, it was aerodynamic, it was Keres.

Slowly, Nia reached up. She pulled out the pins, one by one. They clinked onto the marble counter like falling coins. She shook her head. Her hair fell around her shoulders. It was thick, it was messy. It was full of wild, uncontrollable waves that curled around her face, just like it had when she was seven years old.

She looked at her reflection. She didn't look like the Minister of Economics, or looked like Keres’s tool. She looked like Shareen’s daughter, she looked like Seraim’s little sister.

She picked up the brush. She didn't pull it tight. She just brushed the waves, letting them be big, letting them take up space in the royal mirror.

"I kept it, Mom," Nia whispered to the empty room. "I kept the promise."

She set the brush down and left her hair down. For the first time in years, she went to sleep without a headache.

Chapter Text

Location: The Southern Water Tribe. Time: Mid-day.

The wind in the South Pole didn't just blow, it bit. It gnawed at exposed skin and rattled the bones, but inside the communal hut, it was warm. A fire crackled in the center pit, smelling of burning wood. 

Sokka sat cross-legged on a polar bear-dog pelt, aggressively sharpening his boomerang. Katara was mending a parka nearby, while Aang was trying (and failing) to teach Momo how to meditate. Toph was just lying on the ground, enjoying the vibrations of the shifting ice shelf.

"I still can't believe we found that ship," Sokka muttered, holding the boomerang up to the light. "Her dad was a genius. Who hides a library inside a cruiser? It’s tactical brilliance."

"It was sad," Katara said softly, biting a thread. "But I'm glad we could tell her. Nia needed to know."

Aang opened one eye. "Do you think she got the letter yet?"

"Probably," Sokka said. "Knowing Nia, she’s probably analyzing the paper quality and filing it under 'Emotional Assets' or something."

The group chuckled. Then, silence settled over the hut, but it wasn't an awkward silence; it was a thoughtful one.

Katara set her sewing down. She looked at Sokka, then at Aang, then at Toph.

"Is it just me," Katara started, her voice sounding casually loud in the quiet hut, "or... is there something going on with them?"

Sokka stopped sharpening. "With who? Momo and Appa? Because yes, their relationship is complex."

"No," Katara rolled her eyes. "With Zuko and Nia."

The boomerang clattered to the floor. Sokka stared at his sister. Toph let out a snort of laughter from the floor.

"Thank you!" Toph yelled at the ceiling. "Finally! I thought I was going crazy listening to you dumbasses ignore it."

"Ignore what?" Sokka demanded, looking frantic. "They are colleagues! They discuss taxes! They talk about... tariffs! It’s the most boring relationship in history!"

"It’s intimate," Katara countered, leaning forward. "Think about it, Sokka. Before we left, did you notice how they stood next to each other? They don't just stand near each other; they stand guard over each other."

"And the heartbeats," Toph added, picking at her ear. "Whenever she walks into a room, Sparky's heart does this weird... stutter. It goes thump-thump... wait... thump-thump. It’s like he forgets how to be a human for a second."

Aang perked up. "Now that you mention it... remember when we were eating at that restaurant in Fire Fountain City? Nia said she was cold, and Zuko didn't even say anything. He just moved the candles closer to her side of the table. He didn't even look up from his tea."

"That's just manners!" Sokka argued, though he looked uncertain now. "Zuko is a gentleman! A socially awkward, brooding gentleman!"

"It's definitely not manners, Sokka," Katara said, a small smile playing on her lips. "It's gravity. When she's in the room, he doesn't look at anyone else, and Nia... she’s different with him. She actually smiles, not the scary 'I just balanced the budget' smile, but a real smile."

Sokka slumped back against the furs, looking horrified. "Oh no. Oh, spirits no."

"What?" Aang asked.

"If they get together," Sokka whispered, eyes wide with realization, "They will be unstoppable. Zuko has the army, and Nia has the money. If they combine forces... they will tax the entire world. They will audit the Avatar!"

Toph cackled, kicking her feet in the air. "I'd pay to see that."

"We have to monitor this," Sokka decided, grabbing a piece of parchment and a charcoal stick. "I am not letting them become a power couple without getting some entertainment out of it."

He scribbled ZUKO and NIA on the paper, drawing a giant question mark between them.

"I bet ten copper pieces he denies it forever," Sokka announced.

"I bet twenty he accidentally sets something on fire trying to impress her," Toph countered.

"I bet..." Katara paused, looking at the fire, and remembering the conversation she had with Nia back in the Fire Nation. "I bet they don't even realize it yet."

Sokka looked at the drawing. "Operation: Just Kiss Already is officially a go."

***

Nia just wanted to go to bed. The noodle consumption had been successful, her metabolic deficit was stabilizing, but her social battery was basically negative.

She turned the corner toward her guest quarters, clutching her new clipboard against her chest.

The hallway was busy. Servants were lighting the evening sconces, guards were changing shifts, and a laundry maid was carrying a basket of linens.

Nia took one step into the corridor.

It was like she had dropped a bomb.

The guard at the door gasped, his spear clattering loudly against the stone floor. He threw himself against the wall, eyes wide, staring at her as if she were made of blue fire.

"Evening," Nia said, nodding at him.

"Mercy!" the guard squeaked, sliding down the wall. "I didn't steal the extra ration! I swear!"

Nia paused. She blinked. "Why is he confessing to petty theft?" she wondered. "Is this a new disciplinary protocol?"

She kept walking.

Ahead of her, two maids were scrubbing a stain on the rug. They looked up. They saw Nia, tall, hair loose and wavy (the "wild" look), with faint violet light catching in her golden eyes because she was tired.

Both maids screamed.

They didn't just run; they scrambled backward like crabs, abandoning their brushes. One of them actually dived behind a decorative vase.

"The Spirit!" the maid hissed from behind the pottery. "Don't look at her! She’ll turn you into a coal miner!"

Nia stopped in the middle of the hallway. She looked at the abandoned scrub brushes. She looked at the guard who was now hyperventilating. She looked at the empty corridor that had been bustling ten seconds ago.

"This is incredibly inefficient," Nia muttered to herself. "How are they supposed to clean the rug if they are hiding behind ceramics?"

She sighed and continued to her room.

As she reached her door, she noticed something on the floor. It wasn't a welcome mat.

It was a circle of salt, and inside the circle of salt was a raw fish, a bowl of water, and a very shaky handwritten note that said: PLEASE DO NOT EAT OUR SOULS.

Nia stared at the fish. The fish stared at Nia.

"Zuko!" Nia yelled, not turning around.

A door opened down the hall. Zuko poked his head out of his room, looking disheveled and sleepy. "What? Is there an attack?"

Nia pointed at the fish. "Why is there a fish on my doorstep?"

Zuko squinted at it. He walked over, looked at the salt circle, then looked at the terrified guard still shaking against the wall. Zuko bit his lip, trying very hard not to laugh.

"It's a protective ward," Zuko explained, his voice shaking with suppressed mirth. "They think you're a vengeful spirit. The salt binds you , and the fish... appeases you."

Nia kicked the salt circle, breaking the seal. "I am the Minister of Economics. I am not appeased by raw trout. I am appeased by competence."

She picked up the fish by the tail, looking disgusted.

"I am taxing the kitchen for this," she announced. "Waste of protein."

She unlocked her door and marched inside, slamming it shut.

Zuko stood in the hallway, looking at the broken salt circle and he looked at the guard.

"She's terrifying, isn't she?" Zuko whispered, grinning.

"Yes, my Lord," the guard whimpered.

"Good," Zuko said, walking back to his room. "Then the budget is in safe hands."

The guard simply scurried away, terrified for his life, which made Zuko laugh even more, especially since Nia was his minister and only a year older than him.

However, Nia did seem… way older, even if she was not. At only twenty one, she had an ancient, sad glimmer in her eyes, as if they had seen too much. Zuko did not know all the details of her past, but he sensed that her life hasn’t been easy in any way. He knew about his dad’s death, how Seraim died in Ba Sing Se just like Lu Ten, how she and how her mother and her grandmother treated her like a stone, and how she lived in a refugee camp during university, but Zuko did not know HOW all of that impacted her, or what it truly did to her soul and her being. 

He remembered the golden eyes he first saw at that party 15 years ago; those large, innocent, light amber eyes with bronze specks, thick, long auburn lashes, and a flick of fear hidden behind them. When he saw those eyes in the Republic, they looked hollow, furious, and incredibly somber. Now, they seemed to glow, and the hollowness seemed to have vanished, but there was still sadness still lingering in them.

Zuko headed back to his office to finish signing the remaining agreements he had left to review and sign. He stood in the center, but it was too quiet. The palace was always too quiet at night. It wasn't a peaceful silence; it was a holding-your-breath silence.

He walked to his desk, intending to finish signing the trade agreements with the Northern Water Tribe. He dipped his quill in the ink, but his hand was shaking.

Just a tremor, he told himself. Too much stress. Too little sleep.

He pressed the quill to the parchment.

CRACK.

It wasn't a sound in the room, it was a sound in his head. The sound of his father’s fire shooting at hom; the sound of the flames hitting his face; the smell of burnt hair and cooked flesh. 

Zuko gasped, dropping the quill, and it splattered black ink across the pristine document like blood.

He stumbled back, gripping the edge of the desk. His chest heaved. The scar over his face flared with phantom heat. It felt like it was happening again. He could feel the fire seizing his muscles, locking his heart in a cage of white pain.

"I'm fine," Zuko whispered to the empty room. "I'm fine. I'm safe."

However, the room wasn't safe. The shadows in the corner looked like Ozai, the flickering candlelight looked like the red fire.

He couldn't breathe. The walls were closing in. He clawed at his collar, trying to loosen the tunic that felt like a noose. He knocked a stack of scrolls onto the floor with a loud thud, but the sound didn't break the spell. It just sounded like a body hitting the ground.

Zuko slid down to the floor, pressing his back against the heavy desk, pulling his knees to his chest. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to block out the flashes of red and orange.

Breathe, Iroh’s voice echoed in his memory. Fire is life. Breathe.

He couldn't find the breath. He was drowning in smoke.

Meanwhile, Nia couldn't sleep. The metabolic deficit demanded rest, but her brain was running a cost-benefit analysis of ]subsidies at 400 miles per hour.

She was walking down the hall toward the kitchen to find (steal) some tea when she heard it.

A crash.

It came from the Fire Lord’s office.

Nia froze. Her first thought wasn't clumsiness. Her first thought was assassin.

She didn't call for the guards (inefficient, loud). She didn't panic, she just slipped her hand into her robe pocket, gripping the small dagger she always carried, and moved toward the door. She was silent as a ghost.

She pressed her ear to the wood.

She didn't hear a struggle. She heard... hyperventilating. Sharp, ragged gasps that sounded terrifyingly familiar. She had made those same sounds in the Rehab Center.

Nia opened the door.

The office was dark, lit only by the dying embers in the fireplace. The desk was empty. Ink dripped from the edge onto the rug.

"Zuko?" she whispered.

A sharp intake of breath from behind the desk.

Nia walked around the heavy oak table. She found the Fire Lord curled into a ball on the floor, his hands gripping his hair, his body shaking so hard his teeth were chattering.

He looked up. His gold eyes were blown wide, seeing things that weren't there.

"Zuko," Nia said, her voice dropping into her 'Crisis Management' register. It was low, firm, and devoid of fear.

She knelt in front of him. She didn't touch him yet, because she knew better.

"Status report," Nia commanded softly.

Zuko blinked, the order cutting through the panic. "I... I can't..." He gasped, clutching his chest and his face. "It’s... it won’t stop burning."

"Phantom nerve pain," Nia diagnosed instantly. "Combined with an acute panic response."

She reached out. "Zuko. Look at me."

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. "Red," he choked out. "It's all red."

"It is not red," Nia said. "It is gold. Look at my eyes."

She grabbed his wrists, firmly, not gently, and pulled his hands away from his face. His skin was burning hot, feverish with panic.

"Open your eyes," she ordered.

Zuko obeyed. He looked at her. He saw the tiny violet glow swimming in her irises, not red fire, but violet dragon fire.

"I am here," Nia said. "The threat is neutralized. Ozai is gone. Shinu is in the mines. You are on the floor of your office, and you have spilled ink on a very expensive rug."

Zuko let out a choked sound that might have been a laugh or a sob.

"The rug," he whispered.

"We will deduct it from your salary," Nia said.

She shifted, sitting cross-legged in front of him. She didn't let go of his wrists. She anchored him.

"Breathe with me," she said. "In for four counts, hold for four, out for four. Efficiency is key."

Zuko tried. He shuddered, his breath hitching. Nia waited. She didn't pity him; she paced him. She breathed loudly, exaggerating the motion so he could mimic it.

In. Hold. Out.

Slowly, the room stopped spinning. The phantom pain faded from his face, replaced by the solid, grounding grip of Nia’s hands on his.

Zuko slumped forward, his forehead resting against Nia’s shoulder. He was exhausted.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled into her tunic. "I'm weak."

Nia went rigid. Her hand moved up, resting on the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in his messy hair.

"Incorrect," she stated flatly. "You are processing a near-death trauma. Your nervous system is reacting to a stimuli overload. It is a biological function, not a moral failing."

Zuko didn't answer. He just breathed in the scent of her: parchment, clay soap, and ozone. It was the only real thing in the world.

"Stay?" he whispered. It was barely a sound.

Nia looked at the pile of unsigned documents on the desk. She looked at the shivering Fire Lord in her arms.

"I have insomnia," she lied. "I was looking for a place to work."

She shifted, leaning back against the desk leg, pulling him with her until they were sitting side-by-side on the floor.

"We will sit," Nia decided. "I will critique the Northern Water Tribe's trade agreement, and  you will breathe. That is the schedule."

Zuko nodded against her shoulder. "Okay."

"Okay."

They sat in the dark for a long time. Zuko didn't let go of her hand, and Nia didn't pull away. For the first time that night, the silence wasn't scary.

***
Later that night…

"Clause four is redundant," Nia murmured, squinting at the parchment in the dying light of the embers. Her voice was thick with sleep, losing its usual sharp edge. "The Northern Tribe is requesting a reduction in ash tariffs, but they haven't accounted for the shipping surplus. It’s... sloppy."

Zuko didn't answer immediately. He was still leaning against the desk leg, his shoulder pressed firmly against hers. His breathing had evened out, the jagged gasps replaced by a slow, rhythmic rise and fall that Nia found oddly soothing, like a metronome ticking in a chaotic room.

"Mmh," Zuko hummed, the sound vibrating through his chest and into her arm. "The chief is... stubborn. He likes to write long letters."

"I don't read letters," Nia stated, fighting a yawn that threatened to crack her jaw. "I read numbers. Numbers don't have adjectives."

She reached for the ink pot to make a correction, but her hand felt heavy. Her eyelids felt like they were weighted with lead. The metabolic deficit was demanding payment, and for once, Nia didn't have the energy to argue with her own biology.

She let her hand drop back to the floor.

"Zuko," she whispered. "You are running hot."

"Sorry," he mumbled, eyes half-closed. "I'll... turn it down."

"No," Nia corrected quickly, shifting slightly so her arm was fully pressed against his side. She sought the warmth like a sunflower seeking light. "It is... efficient. It saves coal."

Zuko turned his head to look at her. The panic had drained from his face, leaving him looking young and impossibly tired. The gold in his eyes was dim, soft.

"You should go to bed," he whispered.

"I am working," Nia lied. She blinked slowly, fighting the fog. "I have to finish this... by morning. The economy... doesn't sleep."

"Neither do you," Zuko noted.

"Inefficient habit," she mumbled.

Her head dipped. She jerked it back up, trying to focus on the tariff rates, but the numbers were swimming. She let out a frustrated sigh and leaned her head back against the wood of the desk.

"Just for a minute," Nia decided. "I will rest my eyes for sixty seconds to recalibrate my visual cortex. Then I will destroy the chief’s proposal."

"Sixty seconds," Zuko agreed. "I'll... time you."

He didn't have a clock. He didn't move.

Nia let her head loll to the side. It found a resting place on Zuko’s shoulder. It wasn't a conscious decision; it was gravity. He was solid, he was warm, and he smelled like safety.

Zuko stiffened for a fraction of a second, and then he exhaled. He shifted, adjusting his posture so she wouldn't slip. His arm, which had been resting on his knee, moved tentatively. It hovered for a moment before settling around her waist—not a romantic embrace, he told himself through the haze of sleep, but a protective measure to keep her from falling over.

Just for safety, Zuko thought, his consciousness slipping away. Just to keep the Minister stable.

The fire in the hearth crackled and died, plunging the room into darkness. But on the floor, in the circle of their own making, it was plenty warm.

***
The next morning…

The sun hit the Fire Nation Royal Palace like a hammer. It blazed through the east-facing windows of the Fire Lord’s office, bypassing the heavy velvet curtains and landing directly on the floor.

The heavy oak door creaked open.

Lieutenant Jee stepped inside, carrying a tray with tea and the morning briefing scrolls. He moved with the silence of a man who had served on Zuko’s ship for three years and knew better than to make sudden noises before the Fire Lord had his caffeine.

"Fire Lord Zuko, the Earth King has sent—"

Jee froze.

The tray rattled in his hands.

The office was a mess. Scrolls were scattered on the floor. Ink had dripped onto the rug. And behind the massive desk, two figures were tangled together in a pile of robes.

Zuko was slumped against the desk leg, his head thrown back, mouth slightly open, snoring softly. Nia, the terrifying "Violet Spirit" of the Finance Department, was curled into him, her face buried in the crook of his neck, her legs draped over his. Zuko’s arm was wrapped securely around her waist, holding her close, while her hand was clutching the front of his tunic like a lifeline.

They looked peaceful… They looked defenseless.

They looked like two kids who had barely survived the war.

Jee stared. He looked at the Fire Lord, who had faced Agni Kais and lightning bolts. He looked at the Minister, who was rumored to be a witch who could kill anyone with one look.

If I wake them, Jee thought, I will likely be fired. If I wake HER, he corrected, looking at the dagger sticking out of Nia’s pocket, I will be demoted to the kitchens… or killed.

Jee made a command decision.

He stepped forward with agonizing slowness. He placed the tea tray on the edge of the desk. He placed the morning scrolls next to it.

He looked at them one last time. Zuko mumbled something in his sleep and tightened his grip on Nia. Nia sighed, burrowing deeper into the warmth.

Jee suppressed a smile. He turned on his heel, walked back to the door, and slipped out, closing it with a soft click.

To the guard stationed outside, Jee said, "The Fire Lord is in a high-level strategic meeting. No one enters until he comes out. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

Thirty minutes later, a sunbeam moved across the floor and hit Zuko directly in the eye.

He groaned, scrunching his nose. He tried to turn over, but his arm was pinned.

"Ngh," Zuko grunted. "Heavy."

The "heavy" thing shifted.

Zuko blinked one eye open. He saw auburn hair. Lots of it. It was tickling his nose. He smelled clay soap.

His brain rebooted. Hair. Soap. Warmth. Weight.

Zuko looked down.

Nia was asleep on his chest. Her arm was thrown over his stomach. Her knee was digging into his thigh.

Zuko stopped breathing. His heart rate kicked up to a gallop.

Nia stirred. She felt the change in the heartbeat beneath her ear. Her eyes snapped open.

For three seconds, nobody moved. They just stared at the logistics of their situation. Zuko’s hand on her waist, her face on his chest, and the absolute lack of professional distance.

Nia scrambled back.

It was a chaotic retreat. She pushed off his chest, sliding across the polished floor until her back hit the sofa. She smoothed her rumpled robes with frantic, jerky movements. Her face turned a color that rivaled the Fire Nation banner.

"I fell," Nia stated loudly. Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. "I fell asleep. Due to... exhaustion."

"Me too," Zuko said quickly, standing up and brushing invisible dust off his robes. He refused to make eye contact. "We were... working. It was a tactical nap."

"Tactical," Nia repeated. She stood up, clutching her clipboard to her chest like a shield. "Yes, to maximize efficiency for the morning shift."

She walked toward the door. She stopped at a mirror near the entrance.

She froze.

"Zuko," she whispered.

"What?" Zuko asked, walking over. He looked in the mirror.

He froze.

There was a massive smear of black ink across Zuko’s left cheek where he had rested his face on the spilled document. And on Nia’s forehead, there was a matching black smudge where her head had rested against his cheek.

It was undeniable proof of contact.

They stared at their reflections. The "Violet Spirit" and the "Fire Lord," covered in ink like toddlers.

"I will be leaving now," Nia announced. Her voice was an octave higher than usual. "I have to... audit the laundry."

"Right," Zuko squeaked. "I have to... wash my face… for the nation."

Nia opened the door and fled into the hallway, walking with a stiff, rapid stride that dared anyone to question her.

Zuko stood alone in the office. He touched the ink on his cheek. He felt the phantom warmth where she had been sleeping.

He slid down the wall and put his head in his hands.

"Agni help me," he whispered. "I'm in so much trouble."

Chapter Text

Nia’s guest office was peaceful. The metabolic deficit was under control (thanks to three bowls of fire-flakes), and the ink stains had been scrubbed off (mostly).

Nia was currently restructuring the tax code for the colony imports. Zuko was "supervising" from the couch, which mostly involved sharpening his dual swords and occasionally asking if she needed more tea.

"You're humming," Zuko noted, not looking up from his whetstone.

"I am optimizing," Nia corrected, dipping her quill. "If we reduce the tariff on cabbages by 2%, the merchant satisfaction index rises by 15%. It is a beautiful equation."

A sharp tapping at the window interrupted the beauty of the math.

It wasn't a palace messenger hawk, It was a huge, black feathered hawk wearing a gold collar.

Nia froze. She knew that bird. It was Obsidian, the personal courier of the Tang Estate.

Zuko stopped sharpening his sword. He sensed the shift in the room immediately, the temperature dropped, and the air grew still.

"Nia?" he asked, his voice low.

Nia stood up. She walked to the window and opened it. The bird hopped onto the sill, glaring at her with those intelligent, malicious eyes. It extended its leg. A scroll was tied there with black silk ribbon, sealed with the crest of House Tang: A qilin* coiled around a sword.

Nia took the scroll. The bird cawed once, harsh and grating, and flew off.

She held the paper. It felt heavy. It smelled like jasmine and old dust, the smell of her grandmother’s solar.

"Do you want me to burn it?" Zuko offered, standing up. He had a flame already dancing on his fingertip. "I can incinerate it before you even read it. We can say the bird got lost, or that it ate the scroll."

Nia looked at him. "That won't be necessary."

Nia broke the seal. The wax cracked with a sharp snap. She unrolled the parchment. The handwriting was elegant, sharp, and spiky. Keres didn't write, she carved words.

To the Acting Minister,

It has come to my attention that reports of your demise were... exaggerated. How unfortunate for the dignity of this family that you continue to make a spectacle of yourself.

I hear rumors, Nia. Rumors that you are "glowing." Rumors that you have been corrupted by wild spirits. It is clear that your time in the capital has accelerated your mental decline. You are a broken vessel, leaking dangerous energy that you cannot comprehend, let alone control.

You are not a Minister. You are a liability, a cracked cup waiting to shatter and scald the hand that holds you.

Come to the Estate on Friday. Alone. We will discuss your resignation and your return to the sanctuary, where we can properly treat your... affliction. Do not make me petition the Sages to have you declared incompetent. I still have the medical records from the Rehab Center.

- Lady Keres Tang

Silence stretched in the office.

Zuko watched her. He was waiting for the flinch. He was waiting for the shaking hands, the "metabolic deficit" shivers, the fear that always appeared when her family was mentioned.

He stepped forward, ready to catch her. "Nia?"

Nia stared at the letter.

And then, she snorted.

It wasn't a ladylike sound. It was a scoff of pure, unadulterated disbelief.

"A cracked cup?" Nia read aloud, her voice dry. "She called me a 'cracked cup'?"

Zuko blinked. "Uh... yes?"

Nia looked up at him. Her eyes weren't wet with tears. They were bright. They were golden, and she was smiling.

"She is threatening me with medical records from seven years ago," Nia said, shaking her head as if disappointed. "Her blackmail material is obsolete. This is just lazy."

She walked back to her desk and dropped the letter onto a pile of rejection notices.

"She thinks I am 'leaking dangerous energy,'" Nia chuckled, picking up her tea. "I am not leaking. I am venting excess plasma to maintain thermal equilibrium. Does she not understand basic thermodynamics?"

Zuko stared at her, stunned. "You're... not upset?"

"Upset?" Nia looked at him, genuinely confused. "Zuko, she is trying to gaslight a light source. It is scientifically impossible."

She tapped the letter with her fingernail. "She calls me a liability. Last week, I banished a General to the coal mines and reorganized the national debt. Keres hasn't left the garden in a decade. She projects her own obsolescence onto me."

Nia sat down. She dipped her quill into the ink.

"Are you going to go?" Zuko asked, leaning against her desk.

"Go to the Estate? On her command?" Nia laughed again. "Absolutely not. That would imply she has the authority to summon me."

She began to write a reply on official Royal Palace stationery. She wrote quickly, her hand steady.

To Lady Keres,

Receipt of your correspondence is acknowledged.

Regarding your concerns about my "condition": The glowing is a side effect of direct communion with the Ancient Masters. I recommend you read 'Spiritual Conduct in the Modern Era', Chapter 4. I can send you a copy.

Regarding your invitation: My schedule is currently at capacity managing the Fire Nation's reconstruction. I do not have time for tea, nor do I have time for threats.

If you wish to petition the Sages, feel free. I am currently auditing the Sages' budget. I am sure they would be delighted to hear from you.

Do not contact me at this office again unless it is regarding taxable assets.

- Nia Tang- Minister of Economics

She signed it with a flourish. She grabbed the official red stamp of the Ministry—the heavy ivory seal she had taken back from Shinu—and slammed it onto the paper. THUD.

"There," Nia said, blowing on the ink. "Ticket closed."

Zuko looked at the letter. He looked at Nia. He looked like he was “falling in love all over again”, though he would tell Sokka it was just "respect for her administrative prowess."

"You're terrifying," Zuko said, grinning.

"I am efficient," Nia corrected.

She folded the letter. "Zuko, do we have a messenger hawk available?"

"Yes."

"Good. Send one with bowel issues, or one that bites."

Zuko laughed. A real, loud laugh that made the guards outside jump. "I'll get Ming. He hates everyone."

Nia leaned back in her chair, watching the Fire Lord hurry to the window to summon the meanest bird in the aviary. She looked at Keres’s letter one last time.

A broken vessel, she thought.

Nia closed her hand. A spark of pure, white lightning danced across her knuckles—controlled, beautiful, and deadly.

No, Keres, Nia thought. I am the storm.

"Zuko!" she called out. "After you send the bird, come back. You missed a spot on the sword. It is inefficient."

"Coming, Minister!"

***
Late evening

Location: The Fire Lord’s Private Office. Time: Late Night (The eve of the deadline).

The office was quiet, save for the scratching of two quills.

Zuko and Nia were working at the same desk again. He sat on the left, reviewing military supply lines. Nia sat on the right, auditing the royal kitchen’s excessive spending on exotic spices.

They worked in a comfortable silence, their elbows occasionally bumping. However, Zuko was distracted.

Nia could feel it. He wasn't radiating his usual steady warmth. His heat was fluctuating, spiking with anxiety, then dropping. He kept looking at the clock on the mantle. He kept looking at her, then quickly looking away when she glanced up.

Finally, Nia set down her quill.

"Zuko," she said, not looking up from her ledger. "You have sighed twelve times in the last hour. Is there a rebellion I should know about? Or did your family send another letter asking for money?"

Zuko flinched. He set his brush down. He didn't smile. He looked at his hands, twisting the signet ring on his finger.

"The ship is fueled," Zuko said quietly.

Nia blinked. She tilted her head. "The airship? Are we going somewhere? I didn't schedule a diplomatic mission."

Zuko looked up at her. His eyes were sad, resigned. "Not we, Nia. You."

Nia stared at him, blankly.

"It’s been a week," Zuko reminded her gently. "Tomorrow is the seventh day. You said... you said you would stay for one week, to fix Shinu’s mess, to handle the crisis."

He gestured to the organized stacks of paper on the desk. "Shinu is in the mines. The crisis is handled. You... you can go back to Republic City."

Nia felt a strange sensation in her chest. It wasn't pain, exactly. It was a drop, like missing a step on a staircase.

The deadline.

He was right. It had been seven days since they arrived in the Fire Nation capital. Seven days of audits, noodles, shared warmth, and ink stains.

She had completely forgotten.

"Oh," Nia whispered. "Right, the deadline."

Zuko stood up. He walked to the window, keeping his back to her, because he couldn't bear to watch her pack.

"I had the captain stock the cabin with those Earth Kingdom teas you like," Zuko said, his voice tight. "And I wrote you a letter of recommendation for the University in Ba Sing Se, if you want to go… they would be lucky to have you."

He was being so noble. He was being so selfless.

It was incredibly annoying.

Nia looked at her clipboard. She looked at the half-finished tax reform. She looked at Zuko’s back, the way his shoulders were hunched, bracing for the loss.

She imagined getting on that ship. She imagined going back to a quiet apartment, with no thermal regulation, no chaotic friends, and no brooding Fire Lord to take care of.

It felt... wrong. It felt like an equation with a missing variable.

"That is... thoughtful of you," Nia said slowly.

"You hate the Capital," Zuko continued, rambling now to fill the silence. "You said you were terrified of it. I promised I wouldn't make you stay. I keep my promises."

"You do," Nia agreed.

She stood up, walked over to the window and stood next to him. She didn't look at him; she looked out at the caldera, at the city lights flickering below.

"However," Nia started, slipping into her lecture voice. "Have you ever heard of the 'Sunk Cost Fallacy', Fire Lord Zuko?"

Zuko glanced at her, confused. "Is that... a type of tax evasion?"

"It is an economic theory," Nia corrected. "It states that one should not continue an endeavor simply because one has already invested resources into it. Usually, it is a warning to cut your losses."

Zuko looked down. "Right. So... you should cut your losses."

"But," Nia interrupted, turning to face him. "There is also the concept of 'Return on Investment'."

She counted on her fingers.

"I have spent seven days reorganizing your cabinet. I have spent significant energy training you to read a balance sheet. I have invested time in... stabilizing the office temperature."

She looked him in the eye. The violet in her irises swirled gently.

"If I leave now, Zuko, all that effort goes to waste. Ukano will ruin the budget in a week, you will stop sleeping, and the efficiency of this administration will plummet by at least 40%."

Zuko stared at her. Hope was starting to spark in his chest, hot and bright. "So... you're saying it's illogical to leave?"

"Economically speaking? It would be a disaster," Nia deadpanned.

She smoothed her robes, looking back at the desk.

"I suppose," Nia said, her voice softening just a fraction, "I could stay, for a while longer. Until the... quarterly projections are finalized."

"Quarterly?" Zuko asked breathlessly. "That's... three months."

"Or until the fiscal semester," Nia added casually. "Which is in six months."

"Six months," Zuko repeated. He looked like she had just handed him the moon.

"Maybe longer, maybe not," Nia shrugged. "Depending on the market volatility, and the noodle supply."

Zuko let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding since she arrived. A smile broke across his face, not the polite court smile, but the real one, the jagged, bright one.

"I'll cancel the airship," Zuko said instantly. "I'll tell the pilot to go home."

"Don't tell him yet," Nia said, walking back to her chair. "Have him deliver the tea to the palace first. I do like that tea."

"Right. Tea first. Then cancel."

Zuko practically ran to the door to give the order. He stopped with his hand on the latch. He turned back to look at her.

"Nia?"

"Yes, Zuko?"

"I'm glad you're inefficient at keeping deadlines."

Nia dipped her quill into the ink. She hid her own smile behind a stack of scrolls.

"Get back to work, Fire Lord. Those supply lines won't optimize themselves."

Zuko didn't leave. He walked back to the desk, pulled his chair screeching across the floor until it was right next to hers, and sat down.

"Right," he said, beaming. "Let's optimize."

Nia felt his warmth settle against her arm. She leaned into it.

One week, she thought. Six months. Same difference.

***

Location: The Southern Water Tribe. Time: One week later.

The blizzard outside had finally died down, but inside the hut, the atmosphere was electric.

Sokka held the scroll with both hands. His knuckles were white. The wax seal (Nia’s personal seal, which was just a very sharp square) had been broken.

"Read it again," Katara demanded, leaning over his shoulder.

"I’ve read it three times!" Sokka yelled. "The words aren't changing, Katara! It’s written in ink, not water!"

"Just read the part about the ship," Aang said softly, sitting cross-legged near the fire. "That part was nice."

Sokka took a deep breath. He smoothed out the paper and read Nia’s neat, spiky handwriting aloud for the fourth time.

"Sokka,

Regarding the discovery of the 'Hidden Library': You have corrected a data error in my family history that has persisted for twenty years. You have proven that my father only fought for the preservation of knowledge.

You have given me back my father. For this, I am in a debt that cannot be quantified. Please bring the logbook with you when you return to the Republic. I wish to analyze his syntax.

Thank you."

The room went quiet. Katara wiped a small tear from her eye. "That’s... really beautiful. For Nia."

"Keep reading," Toph said, picking her ear. "Get to the juicy part. The part where my retirement fund doubles."

Sokka gulped. His eyes scanned down to the second paragraph. His voice jumped an octave.

"Regarding my travel itinerary:

I have identified significant inefficiencies in the Fire Lord’s daily operations. His filing system is non-existent, and he attempted to sign a trade agreement with a napkin yesterday.

Therefore, I have determined that leaving now would be a gross mismanagement of potential. I will be extending my residency in the Fire Nation Capital through the end of the semester of the following fiscal year to oversee the restructuring."

Sokka stopped reading. He looked up at his friends. He looked terrified.

"The end of the semester," Sokka whispered. "Do you know how long a fiscal year is?"

"A year?" Aang guessed.

"In bureaucracy time, it’s basically like forever!" Sokka waved the letter. "She isn't just staying for a week! She’s staying for half the year!”

"She mentioned Zuko signing a napkin," Katara pointed out, grinning. "She’s staying to 'supervise' him."

"Supervise," Toph snorted. "Is that what they're calling it now? I bet ten copper pieces 'supervising' involves her sleeping on top of him… or with him."

Sokka dropped the letter on the table. He put his head in his hands.

"She’s staying for six months," he moaned. "Nia, the girl who hates the Fire Nation more than I do, is voluntarily living in the volcano with the broodiest man on the planet."

Aang picked up the letter and read the post-script.

"Oh, there's a P.S.," Aang noted.

"P.S. Tell Sokka that if he attempts to bet on the duration of my stay, I will audit the Water Tribe's ice exports. I know you didn't declare that extra crate of seal jerky."

Sokka shrieked. "SHE KNOWS! SHE ALWAYS KNOWS!"

Toph kicked her feet up on the table. "Okay, the odds just changed. I'm putting fifty gold pieces on 'They move in together by the next Winter Solstice but claim it's to save on rent'."

"I'm doubling my bet on 'Secret Wedding disguised as a Tax Loophole'," Katara added, reaching for her purse.

"I'm putting everything I have," Sokka said, standing up with a manic glint in his eye, "on 'Zuko accidentally calls her 'My Fire Lady' in front of the Earth King and passes out from panic'."

"You're on," the Toph chorused.

Outside, the wind howled, but it was nothing compared to the storm of speculation brewing in the hut. The Nia x Zuko Betting Pool had officially become the highest-stakes game in the world.

Chapter Text

Timeline: Winter, Early 104 AG. Setting: The Fire Lord’s Private Office. Nighttime.

The rain had started three days ago, and it hadn't stopped since. It wasn't the warm, cleansing rain of the tropics; it was the cold, grey misery of a Fire Nation winter.

Inside the Fire Lord’s private chambers, the mood was heavy.

Zuko and Nia were sitting on the floor by the hearth. The table was covered in the remnants of dinner and the usual sprawling mess of paperwork, but for the last hour, neither of them had picked up a quill.

Zuko was staring into the fire, his hand absentmindedly rubbing the scar on his chest through his tunic. A low rumble of thunder rolled over the caldera, shaking the tea cups on the tray. He flinched. It was small, a tightening of the jaw, a slight hunch of the shoulders, but Nia saw it. She cataloged it.

"You don't like the thunder," Nia observed softly. It wasn't a question.

Zuko dropped his hand. He looked at her, the firelight casting long shadows across his face. "It sounds like her," he admitted, his voice low. "Azula. When she... practiced. The palace used to shake like this."

He looked back at the flames. "It reminds me of things I’d rather forget."

Nia traced the rim of her tea cup. She understood that. She understood the way sensory input, a sound, a smell, a flash of light, could bypass logic and drag you back into a memory you thought you had filed away.

"I prefer the noise," Nia said, surprising herself. She usually advocated for silence and efficiency. "The thunder is loud. It is chaotic, but it is... alive."

Zuko tilted his head, looking at her with that intense, golden gaze that always made her feel like he was trying to solve a puzzle. "What do you mean?"

Nia hesitated. She looked at the rain lashing against the window.

"The silence is worse," she whispered.

She hadn't meant to say it, but the "Six Month Extension" had lowered her defenses. She was tired, she was full of noodles, and sitting here in the warmth with Zuko felt safer than it should.

"Where I was... before," Nia started, carefully choosing her words like stepping stones across a river. "Before the University, before the Capital. It was very quiet."

Zuko shifted, turning his body fully toward her. "The Rehabilitation Center?"

Nia went still. She hadn't told him the name, o r perhaps he had read the file his grandmother threatened her with.

"Yes," Nia said, her voice turning clinical, detached. "The Center for Spiritual Correction."

She took a sip of tea. It had gone cold.

"The walls were white," she continued, staring into the dark liquid. " The floors were white. The robes were white. There was no color, and there was no sound. They believed that stimulation caused... deviancy."

Zuko watched her. He saw the way her hand trembled slightly, rippling the surface of the tea. He saw the "ancient" look in her eyes return, the look of a survivor who had left part of themselves behind.

"They locked you in a room," Zuko said. It wasn't a question. It was an acknowledgment of the horror.

"For my own good," Nia recited, the words tasting like ash. "To cure the 'instability’, to fix the 'broken vessel.'"

She set the cup down with a sharp clink.

"It was inefficient," she said abruptly, putting her mask back on. "Isolating a subject causes psychological atrophy, not healing. I spent the first two months calculating the structural integrity of the ceiling tiles just to keep my mind from dissolving."

She looked at him, forcing a small, brittle smile. "So, I prefer the thunder, at least with the thunder, I know I am still here. I know I am not... there."

Zuko didn't smile back. He looked heartbroken.

"Nia," he reached out, his hand hovering near hers on the table. "You aren't there. You're here. You're the Minister of Economics. You're safe."

Nia looked at his hand. She wanted to take it. She wanted to crawl into his lap and let him be the heat source that chased away the white room… but she couldn't.

Because beneath the surface, under her skin, she could feel it. The storm outside was calling to the storm inside. The lightning she had buried deep in her gut was waking up, rattling the bars of its cage.

If she touched him now, she might shatter.

"I know," Nia lied. She pulled her hand away and stood up. "I am going to the Archives. I need to... verify a citation for the morning report. The history scrolls are quiet, but not white quiet."

Zuko stood up too. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No," Nia said quickly. Too quickly. "No. I work better alone. You should sleep, Fire Lord. You have a meeting with the Earth King's envoy at dawn."

She grabbed her candle and walked to the door. She paused, her hand on the latch.

"Goodnight, Zuko."

"Goodnight, Nia."

She slipped out into the hallway, leaving him alone by the fire.

However, neither of them slept.

***

Zuko couldn’t sleep.

He lay in his massive bed, staring at the ceiling. Every crack of thunder sounded like a drum of war. It sounded too much like Azula’s laughter. It sounded too much like his father’s shouting.

He couldn't breathe in his own room.

He threw off the covers and wandered the halls in his night robes, carrying a single candle. The corridors were empty, the guards standing like statues in the flashes of lightning. Zuko walked aimlessly, seeking the only place in the palace that felt insulated from the noise: The Royal Archives.

He pushed the heavy door open, expecting darkness.

Instead, he found a white glow.

Nia was there.

She was sitting on the floor between two towering shelves of history scrolls. She wasn't wearing her stiff council robes. She was wrapped in a simple sleeping tunic, her hair loose and wild around her shoulders. She looked small.

She was asleep.

Her head was resting on an open book: her father’s journal.

Zuko froze. He knew he should leave. He knew this was a private moment, but his feet wouldn't move.

Outside, a massive crack of thunder tore through the sky.

Nia didn't wake up. Instead, she flinched in her sleep. A whimper escaped her throat, a sound so full of fear it made Zuko’s stomach twist.

Then, it happened.

Nia’s hand twitched against the floor. A spark of pure, jagged plasma hissed from her fingertips. It wasn't the controlled lightning of a master; it was the raw, leaking energy of a nightmare. The white arc snapped across the floor, scorching the wood just inches from her own foot.

Zuko stared, horrified.

He knew about the Rehab Center. He knew she had been "sick", but he had never seen it. In the Council room, Nia was iron and stone. She was the one who told him to breathe, but here, in the dark, she was a terrifying storm contained in a fragile human jar.

Another clap of thunder. Nia gasped in her sleep, her breathing turning jagged. “Don’t,” she whispered to the nightmare. “Please don’t.”

Another spark of white lightning crackled at her fingertips, dangerous and uncontrolled.

Zuko moved without thinking.

He dropped his candle. He didn't care about the fire. He rushed forward, dropping to his knees beside her.

"Nia," he whispered urgently.

He reached out to wake her, but he hesitated. If he touched her, and she lashed out with that lightning...

He looked at the scar on his own arm, the one Azula gave him when he fought her with Katara. Lightning killed. Lightning destroyed.

However, looking at Nia’s trembling face, twisted in grief, Zuko didn't feel fear. He felt a crushing, overwhelming need to stand between her and the storm.

He reached out and grabbed her hands.

Nia gasped, her golden eyes snapping open. They were wide, unseeing, lost in the memory of a white room and a brother who never came home.

Instinct took over. Her fingers tightened around Zuko’s. The electricity surged.

Zuko felt the jolt run up his arms, a bite of pain that rattled his teeth. It was dangerous. It could stop his heart in one seconf.

He didn't let go.

He squeezed her hands tighter, grounding her, forcing his own inner fire to meet hers, to swallow the lightning before it could hurt her.

"I've got you," Zuko said, his voice rough and low. "Nia, look at me. It’s just thunder. I’ve got you."

Nia blinked, her chest heaving. Slowly, the gold in her eyes focused. She saw him. She saw the Fire Lord, kneeling on the dusty floor in the middle of the night, holding her deadly hands in his own, absorbing her pain without flinching.

The white sparks died out.

"Zuko?" she whispered, her voice broken. "I... I hurt you."

"No," he lied. His arms were numb. "You didn't."

She pulled her hands away, curling them into her chest, hiding them. She looked ashamed. She looked shattered.

"I'm sorry," she choked out, turning her face away. "Go away. Please. You shouldn't see me like this. It’s inefficient"

And that was the moment.

It wasn't a warm flutter in his chest. It was a physical blow.

Zuko looked at the curve of her back as she tried to hide her shame from him. He realized, with a terrifying clarity, that he didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay on this dusty floor forever.

He realized that for the past few months, he had been trying to rule a broken nation alone. He thought he needed an administrator, but what he had found was the other half of his soul. She was the lightning to his redirection. She was the only person in the world whose broken pieces fit perfectly into his own.

I love her, Zuko thought.

The thought didn't bring him joy. It devastated him.

Because he looked at her, so fragile, so haunted by the Fire Nation’s sins, and he looked at himself: the son of Ozai. The face of the regime that killed her father, the man whose family put her in that hospital.

I love her, he thought, and I am the worst thing that could ever happen to her.

He wanted to pull her into his arms. He wanted to kiss the tears off her face. He wanted to tell her that he would burn down the sky if it meant she never had to be afraid of the thunder again.

Instead, Zuko stood up.

He swallowed the lump in his throat that felt like broken glass. He retreated into the shadows, giving her the distance she begged for, even though it tore him apart to do it.

"I didn't see anything, Minister," Zuko said.

His voice was formal, cold, and protective. He used her title like a shield, rebuilding the wall between them brick by brick.

"The storm is passing," he lied. "You're safe."

He turned and walked out of the archives, leaving her alone in the dark with her father's journal.

Once he was in the hallway, Zuko leaned his back against the heavy wooden door and slid down until he hit the floor. He put his head in his hands, listening to the thunder, and for the first time since his banishment, he felt truly, hopelessly lost.

He loved her, and because he loved her, he knew he could never tell her.

***

95 AG (Nia was 13 years old). Location: Shareen’s office in the Tang Estate. Nighttime

The Tang Estate was silent. It was always silent now.

Before, there had been noise. There had been Father’s laughter, booming and warm. There had been Seraim’s footsteps, running down the hall to show her a firebending trick.

Now, Father’s remains were somewhere in the world, and Seraim... Seraim was a letter from Ba Sing Se; Killed in Action. Siege of the Outer Wall.

Nia stood in her father’s study, the one she has been to countless times after he died. She was thirteen years old, but she felt ancient. She felt hollowed out, like a pumpkin left to rot in the sun.

Her mother, Irina, had walked past her in the hallway that morning. She hadn't looked at Nia, she had looked through her, her eyes glassy and cold, as if Nia were just another piece of furniture to be dusted.

And Grandmother...

Keres had sat her down at tea time. She had looked at Nia’s red, swollen eyes and sighed.

"Tears are for the weak, Nia," Keres had said, sipping her jasmine tea. "You are leaking emotion. It is untidy. Your brother died doing his duty. You will do yours. Be a stone. Stones do not weep."

“Be a stone”, Nia thought, staring at the wall of weapons.

She tried. She tried so hard to be a stone. She stopped talking. She stopped eating. She stopped moving, and every single night, she would cut wounds across her forearms with a kitchen knife, thinking it could stop the all-consuming pain she felt inside, but it didn't stop. It wasn't a sadness; it was a physical agony. It felt like her chest was full of broken glass. Every breath cut. Every heartbeat was a reminder that she was here, and they were there.

Why am I here? she wondered. It is inefficient. I am the spare, Seraim was the heir, Father was the heart. I am just... the leftovers.

She walked over to the weapon rack. Her small hands reached up and took down one of her father’s katanas

It was heavy. The sheath was battered leather. The hilt was worn smooth by his grip.

Nia unsheathed it. The steel sang a quiet, metallic note.

She looked at her reflection in the blade. She didn't see a Tang heiress, she saw a ghost, a girl with too much hair and eyes that were too big and too scared.

If I do this, she reasoned, her thirteen-year-old logic terrifyingly calm, the noise stops. The hurting stops. Keres won't be disappointed anymore because there will be nothing to be disappointed in, and I will see Dad.

The thought made her smile, a genuine, small smile.

She sat down on the rug, the same rug her father used to tickle her on when she was a child. Nia decided to first test the sharpness of the sword. She grabbed the heavy hilt with her left hand and with a light, swift movement, she made a long cut in her forearm. It was a bit deeper than the cuts she inflicted herself with the spare knife, which confirmed that the sword was sharp enough to actually be deadly. 

Nia just stared blankly at the crimson blood slowly dripping from her arm. It didn’t hurt… at all, or if it did, she was too numb to feel it.

Nia then switched hands, and used her right hand, her less dominant hand, to make a cut alongside her left forearm. Because her right arm was weaker, the cut was way longer, and reached her elbow, which made her flinch slightly. The blood dripped the same way; it slid over her light tan skin and onto the rug. 

Finally, Nia took a deep breath, and she placed the sword tip against her stomach, the way ancient warriors did in the stories.

She wasn't afraid of the pain or death, she was afraid of waking up tomorrow.

"I'm coming," she whispered to the empty room, with tears running down her eyes.

She gripped the hilt with both hands. She closed her eyes. She thought of her dad’s laugh, and she thought of Seraim’s smile.

She pushed.

The door slammed open.

It wasn't a rescue, it was a raid.

Servants swarmed in. The sword was ripped from her hands, clattering across the floor, and two pairs of strong arms pinned her down, and there, standing in the doorway, was Keres.

She didn't look worried or sad. She looked... disgusted.

"Look at you," Keres sneered, walking over to where Nia was pinned to the rug, sobbing not because she was hurt, but because she was still alive.

"I ask for perfection," Keres said, looking down at her granddaughter. "And ALL you give me melodrama."

Keres leaned down, gripping Nia’s chin with fingers like iron claws.

"You are broken," Keres diagnosed coldly. "Unstable, dangerous to the family image. We cannot have a child who tries to damage the merchandise."

She straightened up and snapped her fingers at the guards.

"Send a message  the center," Keres ordered. "Tell them she is hysterical. Tell them she is hearing voices. Tell them... to fix her."

"No!" Nia screamed, thrashing against the guards. "No, let me go! Let me die! I just want my dad back!"

"You don't have a father," Keres said, turning her back. "And until you learn to be silent, you don't have a grandmother either."

***

The sword was gone. The guards were gone.

Nia sat on a wooden chair in the foyer of the Tang Estate. Her hands were bound in her lap "for her own safety." Her forearms had been hastily bandaged by a servant to cover the cuts.

She was waiting for the carriage with the barred windows, the one that would take her to the Rehabilitation Center.

She heard footsteps on the stairs. Soft, silk slippers.

Nia looked up, hope fluttering in her chest like a dying bird. Mom.

Irina descended the stairs. She was dressed in crimson. Her face was perfectly powdered, hiding the dark circles under her eyes. She looked beautiful, and looked like a porcelain doll that had been dropped and glued back together wrong.

Irina stopped in front of the chair. She didn't crouch down. She looked down at her daughter from a great height.

Nia opened her mouth. She wanted to say, “I'm sorry”. She wanted to say, “Please don't let them take me”. She wanted her mother to hug her and tell her that it was going to be okay.

"Mom?" Nia whispered.

Irina’s eyes drifted over Nia’s bandaged arms. There was no pity in them. There was no anger. There was just a vast, empty exhaustion.

"You hesitated," Irina said softly.

Nia blinked, the tears freezing in her eyes. "What?"

Irina leaned in closer. Her voice was a ghost of a whisper, meant only for them.

"You hesitated with the sword," Irina stated flatly. "You lacked commitment, just like your brother."

She reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from Nia’s forehead. Her fingers were ice cold.

"It is a cruel world, Nia," Irina said. "There is nothing left here but noise and dust. You tried to leave. You almost escaped."

Irina straightened up, pulling her hand away as if touching Nia was exhausting.

"You would be better off dead," her mother said, her voice devoid of emotion. "You would be at peace. We both would be."

The front door opened. Two men in grey coats stepped inside.

"Take her," Irina said to the men, turning her back on her daughter. "She is making a mess.”

Chapter Text

Location: The Hallway outside the Royal Archives. Middle of the night.

The door to the Archives clicked shut, sealing the storm, and the girl inside.

Zuko didn't walk away. He couldn't. His legs had turned to water.

He slid down the rough stone wall until he hit the floor. He pulled his knees up, resting his forearms on them and burying his face in his hands. He was shaking, not from the cold, not from the deadly plasma he had just redirected (and survived), but from the terrifying realization that had just hit him like a physical blow to the chest.

I love her.

It wasn't a question. It wasn't a fluttering, teenage crush like he’d had on Mai, because that had been moody and awkward.

This was different. This was heavy, and felt like gravity.

He thought about her hands trembling in his. He thought about the subtle scars he had felt under his thumbs, the history of pain she hid under her stiff robes. He thought about the way she looked at him, not with fear, but with a desperate, silent plea to be anchored.

I love her, Zuko thought again, and this time, it sounded like a verdict. And I am completely screwed.

He tipped his head back against the stone, staring at the dark ceiling.

He started running the tactical analysis in his head, the way Uncle Iroh taught him to analyze a battlefield, but this wasn't a battlefield; it was a disaster.

Fact 1: She is the Minister of Economics. She is his employee. 

Fact 2: She is a Tang. Her grandmother scares him. 

Fact 3: She is staying for six months. 

Fact 4: She is fragile. She is holding herself together with math and sheer willpower.

If I tell her, Zuko reasoned, his heart hammering against his ribs, she will leave. She will think I am just another firebender trying to possess something. She will run away.

He looked at his hands. He could still feel the phantom electricity stinging his palms.

He was Fire, and she was a girl made of cracked glass and plasma. If he held her too tight, she would shatter. If he got too close, she could burn him.

"I can't," Zuko whispered to the empty hallway.

He had two choices:

1. Pursue her. Woo her. Court her with jewelry and tea, and risk everything on the selfish hope that she might look at the son of Ozai and see something worth loving.
2. Suppress it. Bury the feeling so deep it burns a hole in his stomach. Be her boss, be her friend, and be the lightning rod that keeps her safe, but never the fire that warms her bed.

It wasn't even a choice.

Zuko stood up. His joints popped. He smoothed his night robes. He fixed his hair. He composed his face into the mask of the Fire Lord: calm, distant, efficient.

"I will not tell her," Zuko vowed. "I will keep her safe for six months, and then I will let her go."

He took a deep breath, inhaling the damp, cold air of the palace.

"It’s just six months," he told himself. "I can survive anything for six months. I survived the banishment. I survived Azula. I can survive a… crush."

(He was lying. He was lying so hard even the spirit of Azulon was laughing at him.)

***

Location: The Royal Dining Hall. Morning.

The dining hall was too big. It was designed for feasts, for boisterous generals and laughing courtiers, and for two people trying to pretend they hadn't held hands in the dark three hours ago, it felt like a canyon.

Zuko sat at the head of the table. Nia sat three seats down on the right.

"Efficient spacing," she had called it. Zuko called it torture.

He watched her over the rim of his tea cup. Nia wasn't eating, she was staring at her bowl of porridge like it was a complex equation she couldn't solve. Her hand was resting on the table, and even from here, Zuko could see the faint, rhythmic tremor in her fingers.

She’s still shaking, Zuko thought, his grip on the cup tightening until the ceramic groaned. Because of me, because I saw.

Nia took a breath. She picked up her spoon. It clattered against the porcelain bowl. Clink-clack.

She froze. She put the spoon down. She folded her hands in her lap to hide the tremor.

"I am not hungry," Nia stated, her voice devoid of inflection. "My appetite has... stalled."

"You need to eat," Zuko said. He tried to sound authoritative, like a Fire Lord. He sounded like a worried boy. "The storm is still raging. You need the energy."

"The storm," Nia repeated.

She looked at him. For a second, the mask slipped. The "Minister" vanished, and the scared girl from the Archives peeked out.

"About last night," Nia started, her eyes darting to the scar on his chest visible above his tunic collar. "The discharge in the Archives. It was... an anomaly; a malfunction."

"It never happened," Zuko interrupted quickly. "I told you. I didn't see anything."

Nia flinched.

He didn't see anything, she thought bitterly. He is deleting the data. Just like Mother, just like the doctors. Pretend the mess isn't there.

She looked down at her hands.

It was extremely ironic, really. In Shoji University, Nia had been... active. She had slept with people. A fellow researcher here, a literature student there. It was simple. It was biological. It was a transaction of dopamine and stress relief. No strings, no cuddling, no "I'll hold you while you cry."

She found relationships inefficient. They required maintenance. They required vulnerability, and Nia of House Tang did not do vulnerability.

But this?

She looked at Zuko, who was aggressively eating his porridge to avoid looking at her.

Her chest hurt, not the sharp pain of the lightning, but a dull, heavy ache. She wanted him to move his chair closer. She wanted him to touch her arm again. She wanted him to know about the white room and still look at her like she was the sun.

What is wrong with me? Nia wondered, digging her nails into her palm. Why can't I just be normal? Why is attachment so terrifying?

"Nia?"

She snapped her head up. Zuko was standing next to her. She hadn't even heard him move.

He was holding the teapot.

"Your tea is cold," Zuko said quietly.

He poured the steaming liquid into her cup. He was close enough that she could smell the ozone and sandalwood soap. He was close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him.

Nia’s breath hitched.

Zuko froze. He heard that small intake of breath.

He looked down at her. He saw the "ancient" sadness in her eyes, the confusion, the fear. He wanted to drop the teapot and pull her into his arms. He wanted to tell her that she wasn't broken, that she was the most complete person he had ever met.

Don't, Zuko’s brain screamed. You are the Fire Lord. She is the Minister. You are dangerous, she is fragile. Back away.

Zuko set the teapot down. His hand brushed against hers on the table, just a graze of knuckles.

A spark, not lightning or plasma, but something static and hot, jumped between them.

They both jerked back as if burned.

"Sorry," Zuko blurted out, retreating to his seat at the head of the table. "Static electricity. The... uh... the rug is dry."

"Yes," Nia echoed. "The rug is dry."

She stared at the tea he had poured. It was hot. It was perfect.

She realized then, with a sinking feeling in her gut, that she had never been in a relationship because she had never met anyone who made her want to be inefficient.

Until…now?

"Thank you for the tea, Fire Lord," Nia whispered.

"You're welcome, Minister," Zuko replied, staring at the wall.

Outside, the winter rain hammered against the roof, drowning out the sound of two hearts breaking in perfectly polite silence.

After breakfast, Nia went back to her office to finally start working.She closed the door to her office and leaned against it, exhaling a breath she felt like she’d been holding since she woke up.

Safe.

Here, there were numbers, there were ledgers, and there was the comforting smell of ink and old parchment. There were no brooding Fire Lords with amber eyes and hands that felt like a hearth.

She walked to her desk and sat down, pulling the Quarterly Grain Import scroll toward her. She dipped her quill.

Wheat prices… Shipping delays… The way Zuko’s thumb brushed her knuckle.

Nia dropped the quill. A blob of ink splattered onto the parchment.

"Inefficient," she hissed, grabbing a rag to blot the stain.

She scrubbed at the paper, but her mind was still back in the dining hall. She looked at her hand. It looked normal. It was a standard human hand: five fingers, tendons, ligaments, skin.

So why did it feel like it was vibrating?

Nia had never understood "romance." In the novels her mother used to read before the grief took her, people described love as a storm, as a fever, as the only thing that mattered. Nia found that description horrifying, because a fever was a pathology, and a storm was destructive.

At Shoji University, she had approached physical intimacy the same way she approached a complex math problem: with curiosity and detachment.

She had "partners." There was the exchange Engineering student from Ba Sing Se, and there was the local Fire Nation historian.

The acts themselves were... fine. They were biological. Friction, dopamine, release, a necessary maintenance cycle for the human body, like sleep or caloric intake. She engaged in it when the stress levels got too high. Afterward, she would put her clothes back on, thank them for their time, and go back to the library to study thermal dynamics.

She never lingered. She never wanted to cuddle, and she never looked at the back of their heads and felt a crushing weight in her chest.

She assumed she was simply defective.

The Broken Vessel, Keres had called her that multiple when she returned from the rehabilitation center. Maybe Keres was right; maybe the part of her soul that was supposed to attach to other people had been cauterized in that white room, or just never existed.

Zuko, however...

Zuko was an outlier.

He wasn't a “transaction”. He was the man who had knelt on a dusty floor in the middle of the night and held her deadly, leaking hands. He was the man who had looked at the monster inside her and didn't call the doctors, and this morning, when he touched her hand, it didn't feel like "dopamine”, or  biology.

It felt like terror, and safety, and hunger.

Nia stared at the grain report. She forced her breathing to even out. She forced the "Violet Spirit" back into her body.

"Hypothesis," she whispered to the empty room, her voice trembling slightly.

"The subject is experiencing elevated cortisol and adrenaline due to the incident in the Archives. The subject is projecting a trauma-bond onto the nearest available safety source: The Fire Lord."

She nodded. That made sense. It was logical, or "feelings"... it was a survival instinct.

And regarding the chest pain? The desire to be near him?

"Friendship," Nia diagnosed firmly. “Best friend.”

She had never had a best friend before. Akiko and Ren were just friends to her; she has never told them anything extremely private before. She had colleagues, she had rivals, and he had Sokka (who was a chaotic element she couldn't categorize), but Zuko... Zuko must be what a "Best Friend" is.

Yes, she thought, relief washing over her. That explains the data. Best Friends care about each other’s safety. Best Friends share meals. Best Friends feel a desire to protect one another from atmospheric conditions.

She picked up her quill again. The trembling in her hand stopped.

She wasn't in love. That was impossible, because she did not know what love even “felt” like. She was simply experiencing high-level platonic loyalty to a colleague who happened to be the ruler of the nation.

"The Fire Lord is my best friend," Nia said aloud, testing the words.

They sounded safe. They sounded manageable.

"We are friends," she added. "Efficient, effective friends."

She dipped her quill and finally, successfully, wrote down the price of wheat.

She had solved the equation. She was safe.

Just then, the door opened.

Zuko stood there, looking slightly out of breath, like he had run all the way from the dining hall. He was holding a plate of sliced papaya.

"You didn't finish your breakfast," Zuko said, trying to look casual and failing. "I brought you some fruit. For the... metabolic deficit."

Nia looked at him. She looked at the fruit.

See? her brain whispered. That is what a Best Friend does.

She smiled. It was small, but it was real.

"Thank you, Zuko," she said brightly. "You are a very efficient friend."

Zuko froze. He looked like she had just zapped him with plasma.

"Friend," Zuko repeated, his voice strangled.

"Yes," Nia nodded, dipping her quill into the ink with renewed confidence. "My best friend. Now, put the fruit on the side table. We have a budget to balance."

Zuko stood there for a long moment. He looked at the girl he loved, and he looked at the wall he had built between them, and he realized that being "Friend-Zoned" was the safest place he could possibly be.

"Right," Zuko whispered, a piece of his soul dying quietly. "Best friend. I'll... just leave this here."

He set the fruit down and walked out.

Nia hummed to herself as she started calculating the wheat tax. She had solved the equation. Everything was under control.

***
Zuko went back to his office, and his heart felt as if it had been hit by literal lightning. Nia quite literally “Friend-Zoned” him, which hurt physically, but in a way, it made Zuko feel relieved, because he had an “excuse” to not actively pursue his Minister of Economics. 

However, just because he would not be pursuing his Minister, his feelings would magically go away. He knew he had to do something, not necessarily to extinguish them immediately, but to slowly control them, like the rage he lived with when he was a teenager, after Ozai banished him. 

I can write to Uncle, Zuko thought. Maybe I really do need help.

Zuko took out a blank scroll and began writing quickly, but made sure his calligraphy was neat enough for Uncle Iroh to read. 

Sender: Fire Lord Zuko Recipient: General Iroh 

Uncle,

I hope the tea shop is doing well. I hope business is good. I hope you are happy.

I am writing because... well, because I am going insane.

Do you remember the Minister of Economics I told you about? The one from the Tang family? The one who hates noise and eats like a sparrow and yells at me about the coal tariffs?

Uncle, I have a problem. A tactical error.

I think I love her.

No, wait. I don't "think." I know. It hit me last night in the Archives. I looked at her, and I realized that if she asked me to burn down the palace, I would probably ask her for a match.

But I can't do anything about it. She is fragile. She has been hurt by her family—by our family's legacy—in ways I can't even write down. She is terrified of attachment. She thinks feelings are "inefficient."

This morning, she looked me in the eye and told me that I am her "Best Friend."

She categorized me, Uncle. She put me in a box. She said, "The Fire Lord is my Best Friend," and looked so relieved, like she had solved a math problem.

So, I agreed.

I said yes. I am now the "Best Friend."

Is this sustainable? How do I be a "Best Friend" when I want to scream every time she fixes my collar? How do I sit across from her at breakfast every morning for the next six months (she extended her contract, by the way) and pretend I don't want to hold her hand?

Please send advice. Or tea. Strong tea. Something that sedates the heart.

She just walked in. She’s holding a clipboard. She’s wearing the coat I gave her because she was cold. She looks ridiculous. She looks perfect.

I have to go.

Your nephew, Zuko

Zuko rolled the scroll and closed it with the Fire Nation Royal Palace seal. He then headed to the hall and found the nearest guard. 

“Send this to Republic City,” Zuko ordered him. “It is for General Iroh.”

***

Sender: General Iroh Recipient: Fire Lord Zuko

My Dear Nephew,

The tea shop is wonderful. The White Lotus is quiet. And your letter made me laugh so hard I spilled my Ginseng brew.

Oh, Zuko. You have always chosen the hardest paths.

You ask if this is sustainable. The answer is: No. Love is like fire, nephew. You can bank the coals, you can cover them with ash, but eventually, the heat will burn through.

However, perhaps "Best Friend" is exactly what she needs right now. If she is scared of the storm, she does not need a lover who demands passion. She needs a harbor. She needs a friend who proves, day by day, that he will not leave when the weather turns.

Be her friend, Zuko. Let her feel safe. Let her see that you are not her family, and you are not her doctors.

But do not think you can hide it forever. The eyes always betray the heart.

(Also, I have included a bag of "Calming Chamomile." Drink it. And perhaps send me a painting of this Minister. I wish to see the woman who finally taught my impatient nephew how to wait.)

Love, Uncle Iroh

Chapter Text

Location: The Minister’s Office. Time: Late Night, Spring 104 AG.

The discrepancy was small. To anyone else, it would have been a rounding error. To anyone else, it was just a smudge of ink on page 402 of the Quarterly Luxury Import ledger.

To Nia Tang, it was a screaming siren.

"Inefficient," Nia muttered, tapping the parchment with the end of her quill. "The variable doesn't resolve."

Zuko was sprawled on the office sofa. He was passively reviewing reports on fishery disputes, and was currently balancing a dagger on his finger.

"What doesn't resolve?" Zuko asked, not looking up. "Is it the cabbage merchant again? He always tries to claim his cart is a 'religious temple' to avoid taxes."

"No," Nia said, sliding a bead on her abacus with a sharp clack. "It is the silk."

She stood up and walked over to the massive map of the Fire Nation pinned to the wall. She began to pace. Zuko watched her. He loved watching her work. It was like watching Azula bend lightning, but without the fear of imminent death. Nia hunted numbers like a predator.

"The import volume of raw silk from the Earth Kingdom has increased by 20% this quarter," Nia recited, her eyes scanning the map. "Demand is up. Logically, tax revenue should also be up by 20%."

"And it isn't?" Zuko asked, sitting up.

"It is down," Nia said. She turned to look at him, her golden eyes sharp. "Revenue is down by 15%. That is a statistical impossibility unless the silk is vanishing into thin air."

Zuko frowned. "Maybe it was lost at sea? The storms..."

"Lost cargo is claimed on insurance forms. There are no claims." Nia walked back to her desk and pulled a stack of scrolls from the 'Pending' pile. "The silk arrived. It was unloaded at the Harbor. It passed through customs, and then... it disappeared from the taxable ledger."

She unrolled a manifest.

"Here," she pointed. "Look at the destination."

Zuko stood up and walked over. He leaned over her shoulder, his chest brushing against her arm. Nia stiffened for a microsecond, the "Best Friend" glitch, before forcing herself to focus on the ink.

"Destination: The Orchid Society," Zuko read. "And The Humble Servant Foundation, and... The Golden Lotus Charity."

"Charities," Nia said flatly. "Under the new reconstruction laws, charitable organizations are exempt from import tariffs on goods used for 'public aid'."

Zuko stared at the list. "Since when do charities need five tons of high-grade silk? Are they making bandages out of luxury fabric?"

"Exactly," Nia said. "It is a loophole. They are importing luxury goods tax-free, claiming it is for charity, but I checked the distribution reports for the orphanages and hospitals."

She slammed another scroll onto the desk.

"Zero," she said. "Not a single bolt of silk has been donated. Which means they are selling it on the black market for pure profit. Untaxed, untraceable cash."

"Money laundering," Zuko realized, his voice dropping.

"On a massive scale," Nia confirmed. "Someone is building a war chest, Zuko. This isn't just greed. This is funding."

Zuko’s face darkened. "Who runs these charities?"

Nia pulled a third scroll. This one was a list of board members for the various foundations.

"I cross-referenced the names," she said, tracing the lines with her finger. "It was difficult. They used maiden names. They used proxies, but the money all flows back to the same social circle."

She pointed to the names.

Lady Zhao. Lady Waru. Lady Qin.

Zuko sucked in a breath. "The wives."

"The wives of the Old Guard," Nia nodded. "The generals your father appointed. The men currently sitting in the Boiling Rock."

"They’re funding a resistance," Zuko whispered. "Or a legal defense fund. Or bribes."

"Or all three." Nia tapped the desk. "But they aren't smart enough to organize this. These are women who have spent their lives in drawing rooms. This operation involves harbor masters, customs officials, and black market fences. It requires a logistical mastermind."

She looked at Zuko. "There is one name that connects them all. A silent partner listed on the lease for their headquarters."

"What headquarters?"

"A private club in the Royal Plaza," Nia said. "They call it 'The Gilded Lily'."

Zuko stepped back, rubbing his face with his hand. "The Gilded Lily. Of course. It’s a fortress. High walls, private security. No men allowed."

"And the leaseholder?" Nia asked.

Zuko looked at her. He didn't want to say it. He knew what it would do to her.

"Nia," he started gently.

"Who holds the lease, Zuko?"

"House Tang," Zuko admitted quietly.

Nia didn't flinch. She didn't blink. She just stood there, perfectly still, like a statue carved from ice.

"Keres," she whispered.

"It has to be," Zuko said. "She has the money. She has the connections, and she hates us."

"She doesn't just hate us," Nia said, looking down at the numbers—the chaotic, messy numbers that were threatening to destroy the peace she had built. "She hates inefficiency, and to her, your reign is the ultimate inefficiency."

Nia closed the ledger with a heavy thud.

"We have the what," Nia said, her voice turning cold and hard. "We have the who. But we don't have the proof. These ledgers show the discrepancy, but they don't prove where the money is going. If we accuse the noblewomen without hard evidence, the Council will revolt."

"So what do we do?" Zuko asked. "We can't raid the Gilded Lily. It would look like tyranny."

"No," Nia agreed. She looked at the map again. She looked at the location of the tea house.

"We need the internal books," she said. "We need the real ledger. The one they keep inside the club."

She turned to Zuko. A dangerous idea was forming behind her golden eyes.

"I can't audit them efficiently from the outside," Nia said. "The numbers stop at the door. To find the missing variable... someone has to go inside."

Zuko saw the look on her face. He stepped forward, putting his hands on the desk, blocking her path.

"No," Zuko said firmly. "Absolutely not. You are not going in there."

"It is the only logical solution," Nia argued. "I am a Tang. I have an invite by blood."

"It is a pit of vipers!" Zuko snapped. "Keres is the queen cobra! Nia, you can't. You... you aren't ready to face her."

Nia looked at him. She saw the worry. She saw the "Best Friend" trying to protect her from the monster under her bed.

"I am not the child on the rug anymore, Zuko," Nia said quietly.

"I know," Zuko said. He reached out and covered her hand with his—the hand that was resting on the damning ledger. "But I promised to keep you safe. That is part of the contract."