Chapter 71: The Festival of a False Sun
The crisp, thin air of the highlands gave way to the warmer, woodsmoke-scented breezes of the valley. For three days they had marched, a silent and tense procession. Zuko led from the front, a brooding statue astride his komodo rhino, his gaze fixed on the horizon where a distant, smoldering peak met the sky. The clue from the fortuneteller echoed in his mind, a relentless mantra. The mountain that breathes. The soot of a forgotten temple. It was a direction, a purpose, and it was the only thing holding the shattered pieces of his composure together.
Behind him, the silence was a physical weight. Rin and Lee maintained a respectful, and increasingly fearful, distance. Their prince had not spoken a word to them beyond necessary commands since leaving Makapu. The confrontation in the alley was a specter that walked between them. They had heard things that could get them killed, things that had fundamentally altered their perception of the royal family, of their prince, of everything. The memory of those sounds, the raw, unrestrained passion followed by the chilling, violent aftermath, was burned into their minds. They looked at Zuko's rigid back and did not see just a commander; they saw a man of terrifying contradictions, a prince who could unleash dragon fire one moment and commit an act of profound, taboo passion the next. Their loyalty was absolute, but it was now alloyed with a new, profound wariness.
Azula, for her part, seemed to be enjoying the atmosphere of strained silence. She observed the dynamic with the keen eye of a viper watching mice freeze in its presence. She knew something had transpired between her brother and his men, something that had them walking on knives. It amused her.
It was Lee who first noticed the change in the air. He sniffed, his analytical mind sorting through the scents on the wind. "Smoke. But not forge smoke. Cook fires. Many of them. And... music?"
They crested a final hill, and the source of the sounds and smells was laid out before them in a wide, fertile river valley. It was a large Fire Nation colony town, a mix of Earth Kingdom stone foundations and the sweeping, pitched roofs and crimson banners of the Fire Nation. But today, the town was not a military outpost; it was a riot of color and noise. The streets were packed with people, both colonists and what appeared to be contented Earth Kingdom locals. Paper lanterns in a thousand shades of red, orange, and gold were strung between buildings, fluttering in the breeze. The air thrummed with the beat of drums, the lively pluck of pipas, and the joyful shouts of celebration. Stalls lined the streets, selling steaming buns, candied fruits, and spiced kebabs. It was a festival.
"A festival?" Rin grunted, his hand resting instinctively on the hilt of his dao sword. "What in Agni's name are they celebrating?"
As Zuko's column began its descent toward the main gate, a change rippled through the crowd nearest the outskirts. The music didn't stop, but it faltered. Conversations died mid sentence. The joyful noise was replaced by a wave of murmuring that swept through the town like a wind through grass. Eyes turned toward the hill, toward the armored soldiers and the proud, banner flying standard of the Crown Prince.
Then, a single voice, clear and loud, cut through the murmur. "The Prince! It is him! It is Prince Zuko!"
The effect was instantaneous. The uncertainty shattered, replaced by a roaring, deafening wave of adulation. The crowd didn't just part; it surged forward, not in fear, but in welcome. People rushed to the sides of the road, bowing deeply, many dropping to their knees. Children were hoisted onto shoulders to see. The music swelled again, this time in a triumphant, heroic rhythm.
Zuko reined in his mount, his expression hidden beneath his helmet, but his body was rigid with surprise. This was not the reception he was accustomed to. He was used to fear, to hatred, to grudging respect from his soldiers. This... this was something else entirely.
A portly man in the rich, formal robes of a colonial magistrate, his face flushed with excitement and panic, waddled forward, flanked by town guards who were struggling to hold back the ecstatic crowd.
"Prince Zuko!" the magistrate cried, bowing so low his forehead nearly scraped the dusty ground. "Your Highness! This is an honor beyond words! We had no word of your visit! Forgive the disorganization! We are not prepared to receive the Dragon of Nan Hai with the proper ceremony!"
The title hit Zuko like a physical blow. The Dragon of Nan Hai. The name he had earned after he had vaporized an Earth Kingdom fleet and part of the ocean itself. The name that had been whispered after he had single handedly defeated General Fong, the Earth Kingdom's so called "Invincible" general, reducing his fortress to a smoldering crater. The propaganda machine had been busy. They had taken his most destructive, rage fueled moments and spun them into legends. They had made him a hero.
Azula urged her mount forward, coming alongside Zuko. Her voice was a low, silken murmur meant only for his ears. "It seems you have a fan club, brother. How... quaint. Try not to let it go to your head. Popularity is a fickle thing."
Zuko ignored her. He dismounted, his movements stiff. The magistrate practically groveled at his feet. "Your Highness, you arrive on the most auspicious of days! Our annual Sun Festival! It is to celebrate Agni's warmth and the prosperity he brings our colony! But now, it shall be in your honor! A celebration of your glorious victories for the Fire Nation!"
The crowd roared its approval. Petals of fire lilies were thrown into the air, raining down around them in a fragrant, crimson shower. Zuko felt a hand tugging at his own. A little girl, no older than six, her eyes wide with awe, pressed a clumsily made crown of woven flame orchids into his gauntleted hand before her mother quickly pulled her back, bowing apologetically.
This was not for the banished prince. This was for a myth. For the Dragon. For the conqueror. Victor Krane's soul recoiled at the blind adulation given for acts of horrific violence. But Prince Zuko... Prince Zuko stood a little taller. The part of him that was still a boy, that still craved his father's approval and his nation's respect, thawed slightly in the warmth of their cheers. It was a dangerous, seductive feeling.
"Rise," Zuko commanded, his voice carrying over the noise with a natural, royal authority that silenced the crowd. The magistrate scrambled to his feet.
"We require rest and resupply," Zuko stated. "My men are tired."
"Of course! Of course, Your Highness! Everything we have is yours!" the magistrate gushed. "Please, allow us to provide a procession! Let the people see their hero!"
And so they were swept into the town. It was less a march and more a river of humanity carrying them along. Soldiers who had been prepared for a fight now found themselves accepting cups of wine and handfuls of sweets from grateful civilians. Rin and Lee stayed close to Zuko, their faces masks of professional duty, but their eyes were wide with the surrealism of it all. They were used to being occupiers, viewed with suspicion. This open armed celebration was disorienting.
Zuko walked, the flower crown still clutched in his hand, his golden eyes scanning the scene. He saw the genuine joy, the pride on their faces. They believed in the war. They believed in him. His gaze drifted over the crowd, over the festival stalls, over the notices pinned to a public board.
And then he stopped.
Amid notices of market prices and town ordinances, was a series of wanted posters. One, crudely drawn, depicted a young boy with arrows on his head and a goofy smile. The Avatar. Another showed a Water Tribe girl. A third, a boy with a boomerang.
But it was the fourth poster that made the air leave his lungs. It was older, slightly faded. The face on it was stern, severe, with a soldier's haircut and deep set, weary eyes. The script beneath it was clear: "Wanted for Treason and Desertion. Jeong Jeong. Former Admiral of the Fire Navy. Reward for Capture: 10,000 Gold Pieces."
Recognition, cold and absolute, slammed into Victor Krane's mind. Jeong Jeong. The Deserter. This was the village. This was the festival. This was the exact episode. Aang was here, or he would be. They would meet Jeong Jeong in the forests beyond this town. The knowledge was so visceral, so out of place, that for a moment he felt dizzy. He was living inside a memory from a life spent watching a cartoon on a screen. The dissonance was staggering.
The magistrate followed his gaze. "Ah, a sorry business, Your Highness. The traitor Jeong Jeong. We believe he hides in the surrounding forests, like a rat. We mount patrols, but he is a cunning old fox. He was once a great firebender, they say. A shame."
Zuko said nothing. His mind raced. Jeong Jeong. The first firebender to leave the army. A master of control, of discipline. The man who could teach Aang to firebend without burning the world down. The man who understood the destructive nature of fire better than anyone.
Should he find him? What would he even say? Could he learn from him? The idea was treasonous. Jeong Jeong was a criminal. But he was also perhaps the only person in the world who could understand the dual nature of fire, the balance between the destructive force the Fire Nation worshipped and the life giving energy it could be. The same duality he felt warring within himself.
His thoughts were interrupted by the procession arriving at the town's central square. A large stage had been erected, and the magistrate was ushering him toward it. "A speech, Your Highness! Please, bless us with a few words!"
Zuko was pushed onto the stage, facing a sea of hopeful, fervent faces. Rin and Lee took positions at the base of the stage, their discomfort palpable. They were close enough to see the tension in his posture, the conflict in his eyes that the crowd mistook for noble intensity.
Zuko looked out at them, these people celebrating a festival of light while he was haunted by shadows. He held up the flower crown. The crowd fell silent, waiting for the wisdom of their dragon prince.
"Fire..." he began, his voice rough, then stronger. "Fire is life. It is energy. It is... purpose." He was parroting Fire Nation dogma, but the words felt like ash in his mouth. He thought of Jeong Jeong's wanted poster. He thought of the uncontrollable inferno he had become against Jet. He thought of the cool, controlled blue of Azula's flames. "But it must be controlled. Without control, it is only destruction."
The crowd cheered, misunderstanding his meaning entirely. They heard a warning to their enemies. They did not hear a prince warning himself.
He handed the crown back to the little girl in the front row, who beamed as if he had given her a chest of gold. The celebration erupted again, louder than before.
As he stepped off the platform, the magistrate approached, bowing. "We have prepared the former governor's manor for you and your retinue, Prince Zuko. A feast is being prepared in your honor."
Zuko gave a curt nod. His eyes met Rin's and Lee's for a fraction of a second. The fear in their eyes was now mixed with a dawning confusion. They had heard the subtle tremor in his voice, seen the distant look in his eye. Their prince, who had just been celebrated as a conquering hero, had never looked more lost.
And as the sun began to set, setting the paper lanterns ablaze with light, creating a false, beautiful sun over the happy town, Zuko made a decision. He would not wait for Aang to find Jeong Jeong.
He would find him first.
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