The cage of his own desire, his own desperation seemed only to have gotten smaller here.

The Fire Nation was just as he had left it, perhaps worse, knowing what the world beyond its walls looked like now. What once was magnificence and glory, seemed only to cast a shadow over his heart. The reverence poured out before him from thousands of citizens seemed a hollow victory. He had not earned this, he didn’t not deserve this. He had failed his mission, the tax his father placed over his head—capture the Avatar.

And yet he still lived. He breathed, and he would seek to destroy everything his father had built and end his reign of tyranny, and yet some part of him sang for the freedom that was soon to come for the nations, for his own people. Yet duty, blind loyalty kept him shackled. It was selfish to want for the fall of his own kingdom, he was their prince, their champion heir. He should want for no such thing.

He should desire only their victory. Only total subjugation of the other tribes.

Yet, why did his heart bleed so?

Zuko sighed, thumbing over the material of his robes. The fabric was coarse, heavy. It could not be easily burnt, a useful thing if he needed to use his bending, which he was sure of at this time. He lay restless in his quarters, the balcony doors ajar, letting a soft breeze waft through as his thoughts weighed heavy on his mind.

If he did not capture the Avatar, and ensure his death now, he would meet a far worse fate than his father had cast upon him all those years ago. Exile would be the least of his worries.

His hand fell away, clenching at his side. Red dripped from every piece of furniture in his room, it seemed garish now. An eyesore rather than bringing on the sense of pride that he was sure would come to him, once he had returned.

His gaze flitted to the balcony, the breeze stirring at his feet only exasperating his black mood. He rose, sitting up quick as a thought, striding towards the balcony only to be met with a black sky filled with stars, the moon’s pale face staring down at him with keen interest. Below, the city flickered with life, candles, lamps, and torches lit to create a tapestry that mirrored the heavens above.

He hadn’t ventured into the city since his return, far too concerned with his current circumstances and dodging his sister Azula in his visits to Iroh to even consider going down. But now, the thought held some appeal. Casting a look over his shoulder, Zuko fixed his attention on the door to his chambers, propped slightly ajar, then, the dark cloak tucked just beneath his bed.

It did not take much consideration, he had the cloak in his hand before one could blink, and he was out the door in a second, throwing the dark thing over his body and drawing it tight at its string, tugging the hood low over his features as he took the less frequented halls within the Fire Lord’s palace, soon finding himself in the grand courtyard leading out to the city.

Avoiding the guards proved to be an easy enough task, but even that didn’t rid the nagging thought that his sister would find out about his midnight escapade and hold it over his head with nothing but a sly comment over breakfast. Even so, he was far from his chambers now, and far from the palace.

Zuko wandered the streets almost aimlessly, observing the stands and various people milling about in stores and tea shops.

He wouldn’t admit it then, not to anyone, but he thought back to the tea shop him and his uncle had so briefly in Ba Sing Se, and nearly toppled over from grief. Surely, his crown, his honor, couldn’t have been worth losing his uncle and the life they had carved extant from their past lives, looming shadows over their current selves.

Zuko tore his gaze away from the tea shops, marching down the street with purpose until he reached a bridge crossing over a small river bank—and ramming into a figure. Or, more accurately, a figure rammed into him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He snapped, brushing them off without hesitation. His nose wrinkling in disdain beneath his hood.