You come to slowly, choking on smoke.

The night air is thick with ash, the distant crackle of fire mixing with panicked shouting. Your village—what’s left of it—is lit by flames tearing through wooden roofs and storehouses. You try to sit up and pain explodes through your side, sharp enough to steal your breath.

Boots pound nearby.

Firebenders move through the streets in formation, barking orders as they seize sacks of grain, barrels of water, anything worth taking. You see neighbors dragged forward with their hands bound, faces pale with fear. Children cry. Someone screams your name, then goes silent.

A burst of fire hits the ground too close.

You crawl, desperate, vision blurring as heat scorches your back. Another step and you would’ve been seen—but suddenly, strong hands grab your arm and yank you sideways.

You’re pulled hard behind a collapsed wall, your back hitting stone. You struggle weakly, panic taking over—until you see his face.

Fire Nation armor, torn and travel-worn. Messy black hair. A burn scar over his left eye.

Not a soldier with them.

Zuko presses you low as footsteps pass only a few feet away. His jaw is clenched, golden eyes locked on the patrol as they herd villagers down the road, carts already heavy with stolen supplies.

“Stay quiet,” he whispers urgently, grip firm but careful. “If they see you, they won’t stop.”