Chapter 28: The Forgotten
There was no sound.
No wind, no water, no fire. No soil. No light.
Only black.
It wasn't the kind of darkness one found under a blanket or behind closed eyelids.
This was primordial silence. A void that pressed in on the senses, thick and alive, like being submerged in ink that neither drowned nor released.
Zuko stood in the middle of it, breath shallow. His chest rose and fell, his ribs still aching, yet there was no pain here. No weight. No firelight. No heartbeat in his ears.
Just a presence.
A voice echoed softly behind him.
"So you're back."
Zuko turned sharply.
There he was again. That man.
The same one from before.
Hovering in the abyss as if gravity was optional, his body reclining on nothing, robes floating as though underwater. In one hand, he casually spun a staff, the kind airbenders used, but not quite like Aang's. It had sharper angles. A lacquered finish. Worn.
And the man himself, Zuko still couldn't make sense of him.
He was clearly Air Nomad, the arrow tattoo ran clean from his forehead down the back of his neck and hands. But his clothes were an insult to classification. Fire Nation leather pauldrons maybe. Water Tribe fur-lined sash. Earth Kingdom bracers. The colors were chaos-red, blue, green, orange, and even obsidian black. Worn like a rebellion against balance itself.
The man's face was stern. Hardened. Mid-aged, with sun-weathered skin and cheekbones like carved stone. Not wise like Iroh, not naive like Aang.
Dangerous. That was the word that came to Zuko's mind.
Zuko squinted. "Who are you? What is this place?"
The man's spinning staff stopped.
He turned in midair to face him fully, one boot lightly tapping an invisible floor as if to remind Zuko that he floated only because he allowed it.
"Tell me," the man said. "What age is it outside this place?"
Zuko blinked. "What?"
The airbender's tone didn't change. It wasn't hostile. But there was an expectation behind it. Like a teacher waiting for a student to finish stumbling.
"What year is it? Who sits on my throne? Is Raya still around?"
Zuko's brows furrowed. "What… are you talking about? Who's Raya?"
That made the man pause. He tilted his head. For a moment, he simply studied Zuko. Not his body, his essence. The stranger's gaze passed through him.
"You're not just out of place," he murmured. "Yes you're a foreign soul but it is more than that, more than I noticed the last time you were here."
He floated closer, eyes narrowed. "You've seen what was. What will be. You're not bound by the river of time like the rest of us. That's why he pulled you into our universe."
"He?" Zuko asked. "Who is he? Who pulled me here?"
The man didn't answer.
Instead, he asked, "Do you know of Wan?"
Zuko's pulse spiked.
The name hit like a gong in his chest. Wan. The first Avatar. The beginning of it all. He'd seen the two-part special years ago on Earth. Remembered the cosmic lion turtles, Raava, Vaatu, the Harmonic Convergence.
Zuko nodded slowly. "I know the story."
The man's eyes flickered with something unreadable. A twitch at the corner of his mouth. Something like a smile, but too cold to be real joy.
"Then answer me this," he said, voice lowering. "Who is the Avatar?"
Zuko blinked. "What?"
"Who is the current vessel of Raava?"
Zuko tensed. He realized, this wasn't some idle spirit. This wasn't some fever dream.
He was being tested.
"Why do you care?" Zuko shot back. "I want answers too. You tell me where this place is. You tell me why I'm here again."
"Answer my question first," the man said, voice sharpening.
Zuko folded his arms. "You shoved me out of this place the last time. You don't get to order me around."
The airbender's eyes went still. Flat. "You're not ready."
Zuko's mouth opened to argue, but he felt it, the shift.
The man's presence rippled like a pressure wave.
The still air turned heavy, and before Zuko could breathe, the man raised his staff.
"Then you'll come back when you are."
A rush of air hit Zuko's body like a hurricane compressed into a single second. It blew through his chest and spine, no time to dodge, no time to brace.
Zuko flew backwards into the void.
Everything blurred…
And then…
GASP.
He bolted upright in bed.
His chest rose and fell like thunder. Sweat clung to his hair, and his bandaged ribs screamed in protest. His sheets were twisted. Moonlight spilled through the small port window of his room aboard the base.
His hands trembled slightly.
Zuko dragged a palm down his face, exhaling slowly.
"Again," he whispered.
It was the second time now. That man, that place, that void. The black abyss didn't feel like a dream anymore. Not a hallucination. Not even a spirit realm.
Something older.
He stood up gingerly, chest tight with bruises and thoughts.
Whoever that man was… he knew Wan. Knew Raava. Knew things that didn't make sense. Knew things nobody should know.
And worst of all, yet again he recognized that Zuko-or Victor-was not of this world.
He looked down at his hands. His breath finally slowing.
And then he muttered under it:
"What the hell is going on?" he asked aloud.
"Zuko?"
The voice was faint at first, filtered through the haze of breath and sweat and memory. He blinked, pulse still erratic from the black abyss, from the man with too many colors and too much power, and from words that sounded like prophecy and riddles woven into threats.
Azula stirred beside him, half-curled in the tangled sheets, her long hair messily draped across her shoulder as she looked at him with narrowed eyes. There was no warmth in her expression, just mild irritation, laced with the natural sharpness that never left her voice.
"You're sweating?"
Zuko opened his mouth, then hesitated. "Nothing. Just… a nightmare."
Azula rolled onto her side, brushing her hair back with an impatient hand. But before she could retort, something outside caught her eye. A soft orange glow had crept through the edge of the thick curtains. Her gaze snapped toward it.
"No," she breathed. "No, no, no…"
She sat upright with sudden urgency, pressing the curtain aside just enough to see the horizon.
The first rays of dawn.
The sea outside the harbor glimmered under the earliest light, a sliver of molten gold peeking out from behind the cloud line. The shadows of the fleet's docked ships loomed large against it. Fires still burned in braziers along the broken port wall where repairs had yet to be completed.
Azula's amber eyes widened.
"I fell asleep," she whispered harshly. "Ty Lee and Mai…"
She spun back toward Zuko, sheets rustling.
"They're going to know we slept together. What else could I have possibly done last night? Where else could I have spent the night? If they're not complete idiots they'll realize I was here with you!"
Zuko, still half propped up on one elbow, rubbed his eyes.
"Relax," he said tiredly, voice rough with the weight of his interrupted rest. "It's still early. The sun's just starting to rise. You can slip back before they even wake up."
Azula was already gathering her under-robe and pants, fumbling into them with practiced speed. Her armor was carefully lain over a nearby bench, untouched since the night before.
"You're not helping," she hissed, slipping her outer robe over her shoulders. "You don't get it. It was part of our agreement to keep this as quiet as long as possible. We're in a war zone. People talk. They'll think…"
"Let them think," Zuko muttered, finally sitting up fully. His ribs protested. "You've never cared what anyone thinks."
Azula glared. "I care what others think of me. And you should care as well."
But she didn't wait for him to respond. With one last fix to her belt and boots, she swung the door open and vanished into the stone hallway, her footsteps fading down the corridor like the lingering heat of a flame just snuffed out.
Zuko stared at the door.
She was gone. And now, the silence returned.
But not the peaceful kind. Not anymore.
He sat back slowly, one hand running through his damp hair. His skin was still clammy. His thoughts worse.
Raya.
That name. It still echoed in the back of his mind.
Why did it sound so familiar?
He'd tried to track the timeline before. Tried to sort the memories of Victor Krane and those of Zuko, blending knowledge from two worlds like mixing oil and water. But nothing about Raya was clear. It hadn't been mentioned in any scrolls, or tales. Not in Roku's life, nor Kyoshi's accounts. Not even in Wan's.
And yet… the man in the abyss asked about her as if she were alive.
Alive.
Zuko frowned.
"Raya… who are you?"
He whispered it to the empty room, hoping it would settle his mind. It didn't.
He looked toward his desk, half-finished parchment still waiting.
The page had been filled with equations. Mathematical formulas in his clumsy brushstrokes. He'd filled almost the entire scroll with them last night before he had coitus with Azula.
He stood and walked slowly to the desk, his body reminding him of the beating he took from Fong.
He stared at the scrolls.
Nine Avatars he knew by name:
Wan.
Szeto.
Yangchen.
Kuruk.
Kyoshi.
Roku.
Aang.
Korra. (If she could still even exists now.)
And the mysterious Avatar Turo, whose mention had only appeared since he'd arrived in this world.
But Raya?
Nothing.
"She's not in Zuko's memories," he muttered aloud, "and she wasn't in the show. Not even in the deep lore."
But something in him whispered otherwise.
That maybe Raya wasn't an Avatar. Or maybe she was. Maybe she was lost, erased, forgotten. Buried before even the Fire Sages carved their early texts.
He pressed a palm to his forehead.
There were so many questions. Too many.
He had more immediate things to worry about, Fong's reinforcements. Bumi's looming influence. The Avatar, now emboldened. His father's tightening leash through Kuvak. Azula's scheming.
But even so...
He looked back at the desk. At the empty seat. The black ink drying on old paper.
He knew he'd be back in that abyss. The man with the staff wasn't done. The questions weren't done.
And Zuko-Victor-would need answers.
Sooner than he liked.
He returned to bed for a brief five minute nap but… sleep wouldn't return.
The bed felt colder without her in it, though Zuko didn't admit it aloud. The sheets were still warm from where her body had been, but his mind was already elsewhere, drawn back to the echo of the dream, the name Raya, and the pressure mounting in every corner of Nan-Hai.
He rose from the bed, joints stiff, ribs sore. The dull pain across his side pulsed with every deep breath, a reminder that General Fong had pushed him to his limits and nearly beyond them.
He pushed aside the ache.
He needed clarity.
Crossing to the far corner of the chamber, he sat down in a kneeling posture, hands resting gently on his thighs. The scent of faint incense still clung to the air from last night. He exhaled slowly, straightened his spine, and closed his eyes.
He began the technique, something more advanced than traditional firebending meditation. Something Victor Krane had seen in all kinds of anime and tv shows It wasn't about fire, not exactly. It was about the balance within. The self between body and spirit. Mind and energy.
He breathed in.
Then out.
And again.
Control your ki. Find the rhythm.
The pain faded into the background, swallowed by stillness.
His pulse slowed.
Thoughts flowed, but they no longer crashed into each other.
He focused on the warmth deep within his core, the spark, the flame, the center of his soul.
He didn't know how much time passed. It could have been minutes. Could have been an hour.
But then…
Knock knock.
The sound shattered the stillness like a pebble thrown into calm water.
His eyes opened slowly.
The sun was visible now through the high window slats, a golden band rising above the sea, flooding the chamber in honeyed light. He'd been at it longer than he thought.
"Come on in," he called, not even needing to stand. His voice was calm. Measured. Still grounded in the ki's center.
The heavy door creaked open.
In stepped Ensign Lee, spine straight, armor polished, holding a scroll in one hand and a clean-swept composure on his face. Beside him, Hinaro, dressed in a simple officer's robe with her hair tied into a short warrior's tail, her expression unreadable as ever.
"Morning, sire," Lee said with scholarly cheer.
"Morning," was all Hinaro offered, short and crisp.
Zuko tilted his head, a faint grin touching his lips.
"Lee, are you that terrible in bed… or is Hinaro always this rude in the mornings?"
The words landed like a slap.
Hinaro's cheeks colored instantly, just enough for someone who rarely showed any emotion. Her eyes widened in offense and disbelief.
But Lee?
He blinked. Took a moment to process the question. Then answered with the same analytical cadence he always used when explaining battle logistics or scroll translations.
"We have yet to consummate the marriage, Your Highness. So I have no frame of reference for my performance. In such matters, I imagine experience is a helpful metric."
Zuko choked on a breath, then laughed. A genuine, short laugh that made his bruised ribs ache. He grimaced and waved a hand at the boyish-faced ensign.
"Spirits, Lee… I didn't realize how much I needed that laugh."
The young man furrowed his brow. "I do not understand what part of that was humorous, but if it improved your mood, then I consider it a success."
"Unbelievable," Hinaro muttered, still staring at the floor in horror. "You absolute idiot."
Lee turned to her, confused. "Was I inappropriate?"
"Yes, very much so."
"Oh," he said, processing that. "I see."
Zuko waved a hand to calm them both, expression turning more composed again. The amusement faded, replaced with that iron stare he used only when the room needed to understand who truly held the power.
"Hinaro," he said, voice low. "It is the duty of a wife to lie with her husband. That is not political, it is biological. Marriages like yours exist for a reason. It is why we're all here."
He turned vaguely to the bed, the twisted sheets, the half-drunk tea. The silence. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes, something too vulnerable to pin down but it vanished quickly, like mist burnt off by fire.
Hinaro noticed.
"I understand," she said quietly, stiffening her stance.
Zuko nodded.
"I know it's private. And I will not press you beyond reason. But I expect consummation within seventy-two hours."
He turned his gaze to Ensign Lee, who blinked in surprise.
"All five marriage unions are vital. The others on Kyoshi? I guarantee you they've already gone through with it. Probably the first night."
Lee frowned at that. "With all due respect, Your Highness… I am not convinced. Lieutenant Commander Jee is disciplined. Quartermaster Kujan is strictly traditional. The others are…"
Zuko lifted a brow. "Just once. That's all it takes. Try it. I promise you… you'll see why I said what I said."
The boy hesitated.
Hinaro took a breath, clearing her throat and redirecting the awkward energy.
"Why did you tell us to come here at first light?" she asked, voice tight but composed again.
Zuko's gaze lingered on her just long enough to let her know the shift hadn't gone unnoticed. Then he nodded, rising fully and stretching his sore muscles.
"Right. Yes."
He reached for his robe, sliding it on slowly, wincing slightly at the pull across his ribs.
"You two are accompanying me to meet with the General this morning. New developments are incoming. I want both your ears in that room."
He turned toward the mirror, adjusting the collar and brushing out his hair with one hand.
"Wait outside while I finish getting ready."
Lee bowed once, then again.
"Understood, Your Highness."
The two exited quietly, the door closing behind them.
Zuko exhaled.
The meditation had helped. The laughter helped more. But the storm hadn't passed. Not even close.
And whatever was coming next, whether from Fong, Kuvak, Azula, or the strange spirit with an airbender's markings and a soul full of riddles, he would need every ally he could trust.
Or at least predict.
He turned toward the rising sun once more, his reflection faint in the polished metal of his chest plate.
"Let's see what today brings."
[A/N: Read 20 to 40 chapters ahead available right now on patreon.com/saiyanprincenovels.com. Please sent a powerstone, like and comment. It helps, and thank you for the support.]