"And... how did it go?"
"As you can see, I'm sitting here in front of you, while the dragon... One moment." I got up and headed to my room, where I'd left the rolled-up hide. Grabbing my trophy, I returned to my father. "Here."
"Incredible..." The admiral ran his hand over it. "Dragon hide... soft and fresh."
"Unfortunately, I couldn't recover more than this," I admitted. Though even this generous gift from the Father Dragon would be more than enough for me. "Everything else was melting or burning."
"I understand." The admiral nodded. "What are you planning to do with the scales?"
"I'd like to have armor made. I'm on fairly good terms with the governor of Yu Dao, and there are some excellent tanneries there. They're used to working with the hides of large reptiles, even if not quite this large."
"Absolutely not!"
The rejection was immediate.
"Hm?"
"No, the idea of armor is an excellent one. But Yu Dao?" The admiral shook his head. "Chan, the finest craftsmen in the Сapital would practically come to blows for the privilege of making so much as a cloak for the Fire Nation's Herald. But crafting armor for the Fire Herald from the scales of a dragon he personally slew... There could be an actual war among the armorers. That single commission would make a craftsman's name famous throughout the entire nation. Hell, his grandchildren would be telling the story with reverence!"
"Really? I hadn't considered it from that perspective. Well then, perhaps thу Сapital really is the better choice. But the time required..."
"There will be plenty of time. You'll spend at least a week inspecting your squadron, meeting the personnel, and working out the sailing order. As for the armor, leave that to me. Your measurements can be taken by a master craftsman right here on Ember Island."
Judging by the unhealthy gleam in the admiral's eyes and the enthusiasm in his voice, he was already planning another massive propaganda campaign. And we'd nearly been at each other's throats just moments ago… Sometimes my father genuinely frightened me.
Yeah…
Well, regardless, the armor still needed to be made.
***Admiral Chan. Several Hours Later.
The old officer closed his eyes wearily.
Everything had gone completely differently from how he had intended. Not only had those idiots managed to make him lose his temper, but he had also somehow forgotten that his son was a rather eccentric individual who had seen more than most and fully understood both his own power and influence. What could he do? He was used to disciplining captains and commanders, not raising children. Especially children who had already become independent.
Blue fire. Who could have imagined it, and what possibilities it opened? Mmm...
All the more painful, then, was the realization that all those possibilities, his son's happiness, prosperity, and future standing, were heading straight for ruin. Or, to put it bluntly, they were being swallowed up by a cunt. A very specific young woman's cunt.
When a subordinate did something foolish, there were tried-and-true ways to punish the stupidity or help correct it. But what was an old admiral supposed to do when his own son, currently something very close to the ideal "Fire Warrior" from a recruitment poster, insisted on committing political suicide?
Being the Fire Herald was impressive, certainly, but there was life beyond that title. A man could only go so far on personal strength and a handful of loyal followers. He needed connections, influence, and the proper public image. Breaking tradition over one's knee tended to hurt the fool doing the breaking far more than the tradition itself. And it was all the more unfortunate because that fool was Chan.
As long as he remained in Fire Lord Ozai's favor, everything would be fine. No one would say a word... to his face. But fortune was a capricious lady. Let the Fire Lord show even the slightest displeasure, and his son would be left with nothing but the support of an influential, yet far from all-powerful, admiral.
Without ties to high-ranking officials, without support from the aristocracy, he would simply be crushed, no matter how strong a warrior or firebender he might be, nor what tricks he used against his enemies on the battlefield. No one was immune to a poisoned goblet of wine, and a good quarter of the nobility already dreamed of strangling the arrogant upstart. Only the knowledge that the Fire Lord took a very dim view of anyone targeting his favorites restrained the more hotheaded among them.
But how long would that favor last?
At present, his son was useful to the ruler. That much was undeniable. The fact that he traveled around with a collection of "warrior concubines"... well, let it pass. Everyone had been young once, and there was nothing particularly scandalous about that.
But how would a ruler whose authority was itself founded upon succession and tradition react to an aristocrat deciding to marry not someone from his own social circle, but a mercenary? A girl barely a step above a peasant.
By doing so, Chan would be stomping all over those very traditions in iron-shod boots.
The admiral snorted irritably and, with a casual gesture, reheated his tea.
The problem was a serious one, far too serious to simply leave unattended. At the same time, resorting to crude methods would be idiotic. First of all, a man would have to be an absolute monster to murder his own son's woman. True, he was far from a saint. Spending years dealing with bureaucrats and aristocrats meant swallowing one's fair share of filth whether one liked it or not. But even so, that was a step too far.
Besides, Chan was no idiot. The boy was intelligent and cunning far beyond his years, something he had demonstrated time and time again. In fact, that very quality was what had convinced Ozai to elevate him from a mere distraction and propaganda figure into someone genuinely important. Normally, that filled the admiral with paternal pride. In this case, however, it was more of a liability than an advantage.
The boy was perfectly capable of connecting an argument with his father about tradition and social standing to the sudden disappearance—or heroic death—of his beloved. And an attack on a member of the Fire Herald's entourage was a crime bordering on treason. Not even an admiral would be forgiven for that, regardless of rank, influence, or family ties.
(End of Chapter)
Even the smallest flame needs fuel to endure.
If you wish to see this story burn brighter, consider leaving a review, a comment, or offering your Power Stones.
🔥 Bonus chapter at 500 power stones.