Promotion came without ceremony.
A sealed order. A new insignia. A quiet nod from the general staff.
After a string of decisive victories, Father granted me my own division and the rank of Captain. Not because I was his son—though that never hurt—but because results were impossible to ignore. Cities fell faster under my command. Casualties were lower. Resistance collapsed cleanly instead of festering into rebellion.
War respected competence.
And after a year on the battlefield, competence had been carved into my bones.
My body had changed.
Not dramatically—not grotesquely—but perfectly.
Muscle had refined itself through constant motion and combat, lean and efficient rather than bulky. Every movement felt sharper, more economical. My balance was flawless. My endurance bordered on absurd. The Uzumaki bloodline ensured fatigue never lingered long, while firebending kept my blood warm even in the coldest campaigns.
I could fight for hours.
Days, if needed.
My hands were calloused now, scarred lightly from blade and flame. My grip never trembled. My breathing stayed steady no matter how intense the battle became.
This body was no longer that of a prodigy.
It was the body of a soldier.
A commander.
Experience refined everything.
My firebending grew calmer, more deliberate. Blue flames became my default—not a display of power, but a tool. I learned exactly how much heat was required to melt armor without igniting flesh. How to cauterize wounds mid-battle. How to use heat distortion to blur vision and disrupt formations.
Lightning followed thought instantly now.
Cold Chain Lightning stabilized, its range extended as my control improved. I learned to pre-seed the ground with conductive stone, shaping the battlefield itself to maximize efficiency. Earthbenders never realized they were part of the circuit until it was too late.
Swordsmanship became instinct.
Sasuke's memories had given me the foundation—but war gave me refinement. Real enemies didn't move like sparring partners. They panicked. They hesitated. They made mistakes.
I punished every one.
Command taught me restraint.
I no longer charged first unless necessary. I watched. Calculated. Issued orders with clarity and brevity. My division learned quickly that hesitation was more dangerous than obedience.
They trusted me.
That trust mattered more than fear.
When I walked the camp at night, soldiers straightened—not out of terror, but respect. They knew I would not waste their lives. They knew that if I sent them forward, there was a reason.
And if I entered the battlefield myself—
The battle would end.
I received reports regularly.
Zuko's progress remained slow. Azula's training, however, accelerated rapidly. She had begun showing signs of lightning generation—unstable, but promising. Father was pleased.
Too pleased.
Jeong Jeong had grown quieter over the months. His eyes lingered longer on burning villages, on civilians fleeing cities we claimed intact. I recognized the look.
Doubt.
He still taught me when he could—but his lessons had shifted. Less about victory. More about consequence.
"Fire consumes," he said once as we watched smoke rise from a distant town. "Even when controlled."
"I know," I replied.
"But you still use it."
"Yes," I said honestly. "Because if I don't, someone worse will."
He had no answer for that.
A year.
Only a year—and yet the boy who had left the palace barely existed anymore.
I stood taller now, broader across the shoulders, posture unconsciously commanding. My presence alone could still a room. Blue fire flickered behind my eyes when I focused, restrained but unmistakable.
Captain of my own division.
Crown Prince of the Fire Nation.
Weapon. Strategist. Heir.
As I reviewed the next campaign maps under lantern light, one thought settled heavily in my mind—not with pride, but with certainty.
This war is shaping me as much as I am shaping it.
And when the time came to return home—
The palace would not recognize who I had become.