— MC POV / Yan Hai —
The room was still.
Wooden ceiling. Paper windows. The scent of sea salt mixed faintly with something bitter, herbal. Sunlight streamed through the slits in the shoji screens, warm on my face.
I sat up slowly. My body ached—not the sharp kind of pain, but the dull, heavy exhaustion that made every movement feel distant. My limbs weren't sore from any injury.
Just… empty.
I swung my legs over the side of the cot. Rough linen bandages wrapped my hands. The same hands that had once conjured flames on instinct.
I looked at them for a long time. Nothing came out.
Everything felt off. Dull. Wrong.
What happened?
Then it hit me.
Ozai.
The guards.
My mother's arms around me.
Her words— "Take me instead."
The cold weight of chains.
His voice in my ear.
"You are exiled. No longer prince to this Great Fire Nation."
A slow breath escaped my lungs. I barely recognized the sound.
I tried to stand, but my legs protested. So, I just sat there, head lowered, staring at the floor.
Was I even alive? Or was this some purgatory, a place between the end and whatever came next?
I hadn't had a name when I collapsed. I had nothing.
Sasuke died on that ship.
What was left now was—
A knock came at the door.
It opened before I answered.
"You're finally awake. That's good."
The voice was calm and even.
The man from the boat entered carrying a tray. On it were two cups and a black clay teapot, steam rising from its spout. He set the tray down beside the low table near the window and poured without ceremony.
I watched him. His movements were precise, deliberate. Not a wasted gesture. His gray eyes met mine briefly before he gestured toward the second cup.
"You've been asleep for nearly two days."
Two days.
I didn't react. I barely blinked.
I accepted the tea, but didn't drink.
He studied me for a moment, then took a sip of his own.
"You haven't said much."
"Not much to say."
He nodded slowly, neither pressing nor prying. The silence stretched, but it wasn't awkward. Just quiet.
I set the cup down beside me.
"I can't bend anymore."
The words came out before I'd really decided to say them. But once they were out, I didn't take them back.
No flames. No heat. Nothing.
Something had snapped when I was dragged away in chains. Something deeper than bruises or pride.
He didn't speak.
So, I kept going.
"My father exiled me. He said if I returned, he'd kill my mother and make my sister disappear. He looked me in the eyes and said it like he was giving a speech. Like it was nothing."
The man watched me, unmoving.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to be anymore. Not a prince. Not a bender. Just... gone."
Another pause. I thought maybe he'd offer some hollow comfort. Some tired phrases meant to ease guilt or disguise pity.
Instead, he said:
"Do you know what happens when a sword breaks?"
I glanced at him.
"It doesn't get thrown away," he continued. "Not if the metal's good. It is melted down, reforged. Beaten into shape. It takes time. It takes pain. But it becomes something again."
He met my eyes, steady and unwavering.
"You're not gone. Just not shaped yet."
I didn't reply.
I didn't have anything left to say.
The tea was bitter. Strong. Not soothing, not comforting.
But it was real.
I kept drinking.
The man said nothing more. He simply poured himself a second cup and sat in silence beside the window, watching the waves roll beyond the paper screen. I could see a sliver of the shoreline from where I sat—sand, stone, and water stretching into the horizon.
We stayed like that for a long time. Until my cup was empty, and the silence wasn't heavy anymore.
Then, he spoke.
— Piandao POV —
There was always a moment with every student, every wanderer who ended up on my doorstep—whether by fate, storm, or war—where I could see it clearly.
The moment where the weight inside them became too heavy to hold alone.
He hadn't said his real name. I didn't need him to. I'd seen enough faces of royalty to know the way he carried himself.
But it wasn't just the posture, or the golden eyes.
It was the fire he wasn't letting out. The kind that wasn't tied to bending.
Loss, rage, guilt—he held it in with such control that it bent his back without him realizing it.
He reminded me of the soldiers I saw after their first real war.
But he was a boy.
Barely eight.
No one should have to wear grief that young.
I leaned forward slightly and refilled his cup. His hand was steadier this time.
"When I left the army," I said, "I couldn't hold a sword for three months."
He blinked, unsure if I was joking.
"I wasn't injured," I continued. "No broken bones. No illness. Just… couldn't. My hands refused."
"…Why?"
"Because the man holding the blade wasn't someone I recognized anymore."
He looked at me then, really looked. Not like someone waiting for judgment. Like someone unsure whether to believe what he had heard.
"I fought in a dozen campaigns. Killed too many. And somewhere in all of that, I forgot what the sword was for. I Forgot what it meant to me. To my teachers. To the life I once wanted."
I tapped the hilt of the blade resting beside the doorway. It hadn't left my side since I was his age.
"I don't train soldiers anymore. I don't take students who want power for power's sake. But I do train those who have lost themselves. Because I know what that feels like."
I let the words sit for a moment.
Then I asked:
"Do you want to learn?"
— MC POV / Yan Hai —
I didn't answer right away.
The word sat in my mouth, too heavy to lift. My throat still burned. My hands still ached from nothing.
But my mind replayed my last duel.
Not with Ozai. With Iroh.
The fire. The control. The precision.
I'd fought with purpose.
And now…
I closed my eyes. Inhaled. Exhaled.
"Yes."
It came out as a whisper.
But it was honest.
He nodded once. As if that was enough.
"Then tomorrow morning, you'll rise with the sun," he said.
"We'll start with breathwork. Balance. Footwork. No swords. Not yet."
He stood, brushing dust from his tunic.
"There's a room prepared for you. Rest tonight. You'll need it."
He turned to leave, then paused at the door.
"Oh—and one more thing, Yan Hai."
I looked up.
"You said you can't bend anymore."
I nodded once.
He met my eyes, steady and deliberate.
"You don't need to reclaim who you were. You can redefine yourself into something new—something stronger—not to serve a nation… but to protect what they never could."
Then he was gone.
And I was alone again.
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(A/N: Yo! It's me your ghost author with more Prince Sasuke!
The ideas are flowing!
Let me know if you can tell any difference in the storytelling... I'm curious.
Anywho, Piando! What a great character to introduce. I knew since the beginning that I would introduce him eventually, and now here we are! Like....4 years after initial release?
How long have I been writing this story?? (╥﹏╥)