Chapter 54: Birthplace of Avatar Roku
The ship creaked and groaned beneath its own weight, each timber whispering against the sea as the Fire Nation vessel cut clean through the black waves. Night had long since fallen, and the sky above was veiled in scattered stars. The air was cool, carrying the sharp tang of salt, a sharp contrast to the heat that still lingered on Zuko's skin.
He descended the ladder to the lower deck slowly, each step deliberate, his muscles still burning faintly from more than just the therapy he had endured above. Sweat clung to his bandages, though it was not from battle and in that haze of exhaustion and satisfaction, his mind was clearer than it had been in days. For a brief span of time, he had forgotten pain, forgotten blood, forgotten Fong's laughter and the weight of the crimson purgatory he had called forth.
Now, however, he was once again the Prince.
The moment he entered his quarters, the lantern-light bathed him in warm gold. Maps of Crescent Island and surrounding seas lay scattered across the table, half-marked with charcoal notations of possible approaches. A brazier glowed faintly in the corner, fire whispering against iron. Zuko sat heavily on a stool, leaning forward, his elbows resting against the table. He exhaled through his nose, his body finally cooling, but his mind racing.
A knock at the door cut through the silence.
"Enter," Zuko said curtly, his voice still rough, though steady.
Sergeant Rin stepped inside, his posture as sharp as ever despite the subtle fatigue that lined his scarred face. His armor bore new scratches, his red sash tied slightly loose, a man who hadn't taken rest since Nan-Hai. He bowed briefly before speaking.
"My prince," Rin began, tone crisp, "we've been monitoring our course closely since we set sail. With the winds at our back, the ship is making better time than expected. If nothing interrupts us, we'll arrive at Crescent Island by tomorrow evening, more than a day to spare before the solstice."
Zuko's lips pulled into the faintest of smirks. "Good. I told you it was possible."
Rin allowed himself a grunt that might have been amusement, though his face betrayed nothing. "Possible, yes. But only if nothing else crosses our path. There are still Earth Kingdom raiding ships prowling in these waters. And we both know Crescent Island isn't just a pilgrimage ground. There are… old things there. Things men whisper about."
Zuko leaned back, wincing as his ribs pulled under their wrappings. "Let them whisper. Crescent Island is exactly where we need to be. The spirits chose it for a reason. It's where the Avatar is supposed to find his guidance. Instead it's where I'll claim mine."
Rin's brow furrowed as he stepped further into the cabin. "You speak as if the island is a promise, my lord. But I need more than riddles to keep the men in line. They'll follow you into hell, you proved that at Nan-Hai but even soldiers can only bleed for shadows for so long. What's waiting for us there?"
Zuko met his eyes, golden fire glinting in the lantern's light. "Power," he said simply. "Answers. The kind that will make sure I never crawl before men like Fong again."
Rin studied him for a long moment, then nodded, though the doubt didn't leave his face entirely. "Very well. But I'll hold you to it, Prince Zuko. If Crescent Island is a grave instead of salvation, the blood will be on your hands."
Zuko gave a humorless chuckle, his voice low and cold. "Then let it be. I've carried worse."
The two men locked gazes, the room thick with unspoken understanding. Zuko had chosen his path. Rin, as always, would walk it with him but not without his warnings.
Outside, the waves surged, carrying them ever closer to the island that waited like a silent sentinel against the horizon.
Rin lingered, arms folded against his chest, the scar down his jaw dark in the lamplight. He was silent for a beat too long before finally speaking, his tone low, deliberate.
"This power you speak of, my prince… what is it exactly?" His eyes narrowed, studying Zuko's face as if searching for cracks. "You talk as though Crescent Island holds something beyond fire and stone. And with Princess Azula aboard, I must ask, are you certain she won't sink her claws into whatever it is you're seeking?"
Zuko straightened, pushing back his shoulders despite the tight pull of his bandages. His expression hardened, though there was a flicker of fire in his eyes that wasn't anger so much as conviction.
"You're right to ask," Zuko said, his voice cutting through the silence. "But Azula won't interfere. Not this time."
Rin raised a brow. "And why not? She's watched you closer than anyone since Nan-Hai. I'd wager she knows you're holding something back, even if she doesn't understand what it is. That girl was born to sniff out weakness and exploit it. What's to stop her from watching you even on Crescent Island?"
Zuko let out a quiet breath, not quite a sigh, but close, before standing and pacing to the far wall, his hand brushing the edge of a rolled parchment map. He stared at the firelight dancing in the brazier before speaking, his voice quieter but sharper than steel.
"Because Crescent Island isn't just another rock in the sea. It is where Avatar Roku was born, my grandfather." His hand curled into a fist at his side. "The Fire Sages built their temple there, not for the Fire Nation, but for the Avatar himself. For centuries, they've guarded its shrines, preserved its flames, and waited for the moments when the cycle demanded answers. Crescent Island isn't just important, it is sacred. A shrine not just to Roku, but to the very idea of the Avatar, to all the past Avatars."
Rin frowned slightly, absorbing this, but said nothing.
Zuko turned, his eyes catching the light, glowing faintly in the shadows. "Azula won't know what I do there, because no one will. As far as anyone else is concerned, Crescent Island is nothing but another step in my obsession with the Avatar cycle, another one of my fixations on past Avatars, their mistakes, their teachings. That's all the men need to know. That's all Azula needs to know. But what truly happens there will be mine alone."
The silence stretched. Rin's fingers drummed lightly against his bracer, his gaze thoughtful. "You ask us to trust you on blind faith, then. To follow you into a place none of us understand, where even the Fire Sages themselves are said to walk with shadows at their heels."
"Not blind faith," Zuko corrected, his voice sharp. He stepped closer, his presence pressing like a weight. "Earned faith. You saw what I did at Nan-Hai. You saw me stand against Fong when no one else could. You saw me bleed, break, and still rise. That's not obsession, Rin. That's resolve. Crescent Island is the next step. And when I come out of it…" He leaned in, his eyes burning with something deeper, hungrier. "…I'll be more than I am now. More than even Azula can grasp."
Rin met his gaze evenly, his scarred face hard but not unmoved. "And if she senses it? If she suspects you're moving beyond her reach? You know better than anyone, Azula doesn't tolerate being left in the dark."
Zuko's lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. "Then let her suspect. Let her gnash her teeth and sharpen her claws. She can't stop me. Not on Crescent Island. That place is tied to me in ways she can never claim. Roku's blood runs in me stronger than in her I am certain."
The brazier crackled, spitting embers that briefly lit the tension hanging in the air.
Rin inclined his head slowly, almost reluctantly. "Very well, my prince. You've made your choice. I'll see to it the men only hear what they're meant to hear. Your 'obsession' will be their explanation. But mark my words, Azula will be watching. She always is."
Zuko turned back to the maps, his fingers tracing the jagged outline of Crescent Island. His voice was quiet, but it carried like fire through smoke. "Let her watch. She'll see only what I want her to see. The rest is mine."
The ship groaned beneath them, waves slamming against its iron hull, carrying them forward across the vast and restless sea. Ahead, unseen but drawing ever closer, Crescent Island waited.
---
Two days later, the sea stretched wide and endless, a gleaming expanse of shifting blue that shimmered beneath the afternoon sun. The ship cut through the waves with steady purpose, its steel hull gleaming, banners snapping in the salt-heavy breeze. The air carried the tang of sulfur now, faint but unmistakable, carried on the wind like a warning.
Zuko stood at the ship's balcony, his hands resting on the railing, his bandaged body held upright through will more than strength. The horizon had finally revealed what he had been waiting for: a dark silhouette rising jagged against the orange-tinged sky.
Crescent Island.
Its volcanic spine jutted upward, sharp and brutal, smoke curling from the blackened crater at its peak. The slopes of the volcano were streaked with rivers of cooled obsidian rock, broken here and there by glowing cracks of molten fire that pulsed faintly, as though the island itself breathed. To the south, the land bent in a sweeping arc that gave the island its crescent shape, cradling a sheltered bay. Stone docks thrust outward from the bay like jagged spears, blackened by centuries of volcanic soot. And nestled into the inner curve of the island, carved directly into the rock, rose the temples and shrines: towering, angular structures crowned with dragon-headed spires, their red-painted eaves scarred but eternal against the mountain's wrath. Statues of long-dead Avatars, their features eroded by time and ash, guarded the causeway leading to the great Fire Sage temple at the island's heart.
Sergeant Rin stood to Zuko's right, his scarred face impassive as his gaze traced the dark, towering volcano. To Zuko's left, Azula leaned against the railing, the afternoon sun catching in her golden eyes, turning them to polished coins. Her lips curved into that sharp smirk of hers as she broke the silence.
"Well, well, brother," she drawled, her tone silk over steel. "So this is Crescent Island. Home of shrines, sages, and smoke-belching rocks. Tell me…" she flicked her fingers toward the silhouette of the Fire Sage temple in the distance, "…is this part of our… arrangement? Or is this simply another one of your endless obsessions with past Avatars and their oh-so-profound legacies?"
Zuko didn't flinch. His eyes stayed fixed on the black plume rising from the volcano's crown. "Does it matter?"
Azula tilted her head, studying him, her smirk deepening. "It matters if this island is just another stage for you to indulge in history lessons with dusty old sages. While you sit around listening to stories of men long dead, the Avatar slips further from our grasp. Was this really your brilliant plan, brother? Another shrine, another obsession?"
Zuko finally turned, his gaze sharp, voice low but unyielding. "It's all part of the plan. Every step. Crescent Island isn't a distraction. It's a foundation." He leaned closer, his bandaged hands tightening against the railing. "You wanted to be part of this? Then trust my process. You'll be there when I need you. Until then, let me worry about what matters."
Azula's smirk faltered, her eyes narrowing into something colder. "Trust," she repeated, her tone mocking the word as though it were a joke. "That's a dangerous thing to ask of me, Zuzu. You know I don't give it freely."
Zuko met her gaze, unwavering. "You don't have to. Just don't get in my way."
The two siblings held each other's stare, their words hanging like drawn blades in the salt-scorched air. Rin shifted uncomfortably beside them but kept his silence, the tension between the royal heirs palpable.
At last, Azula turned back toward the island, her smirk restored though thinner than before. "Very well. I'll play along, for now. But you'd better make all this smoke and fire worth the trouble."
The ship groaned as it adjusted course, angling into the crescent bay. The island loomed larger now, every detail sharper: the cracked basalt cliffs scarred by centuries of eruptions, the ancient causeways leading to shrines where Fire Sages once bowed before flames, the volcanic ash that coated the air itself with a faint haze. Smoke twisted in the sky above like a serpent, blotting out the sun in shifting veils of shadow.
Zuko's hand lingered on the railing, his jaw set like stone. Crescent Island was not merely a destination. It was a threshold. And once he stepped onto its volcanic shores, nothing, not Azula, not Kuvak, not even Ozai, would keep him from what lay within.
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