#Sage is my smol son I will fight for him

[no-white-knights-blog]

Halo - An Etrian Odyssey Novel (Chapter 1/50)

Notes: Here’s the first chapter of my Etrian Odyssey novel revolving around my guild, Halo. This entire novel is dedicated to @theshatteredrose, who inspired me to finally create my own guild. In coming chapters several explorers from the Guardian’s guild will make cameo appearances, but I claim NO RIGHTS to the Guardian’s or any of the characters who appear. They all belong to @theshatteredrose. The only characters that I own are the ones from Guild Halo, and I hope you come to love them as much as I do! - Amelia

~~~~~

No one ever truly realizes how connected they are, not only to their personal families, but to those around them, and even to the earth beneath their shoes, the towering trees that rose so high into the sky that all you would be able to see when you looked up was a thick canopy that barely allowed the streams of golden light to shine through, allowing for little flowers to soak up that sun and grow in even the most shadowed of places.

It was all a matter of perspective. If you took that moment to think, to understand, you would be awed to discover that every living creature, human or otherwise, are all connected by some cosmic, unexplainable string of fate, shining a million different colors, and binding together even the most unsuspecting of broken hearts and blood shot eyes.

My head hurts… why does my head hurt? Did I get hit? What hit me?

Nothing made sense, nothing in the large area was familiar to the young man who was struggling to walk, stumbling over protruding roots, weakened by something he couldn’t see, something he couldn’t remember. All he understood was how badly his head was aching, something thick and hot was dripping down the right side of his temple and down his face to his cheek.

The palms of his hands had been scraped up badly by the rough surface of the tree trunks he would fall against, bracing his numb body against the towering trees for a long moment before his head stopped spinning and he remembered how to walk again, taking a few staggering steps forward before slamming against another trunk.

His vision was blurring in and out of focus right around the edges, and there were wisps of light green hanging in his eyes, but he couldn’t tell if it was from the foliage of the heavy woods around him, or his own hair. Was it his hair? Gosh, he couldn’t seem to recall what color his hair even was. Why wouldn’t he be able to remember something so simple and obvious as that?

The more he walked, the more confused and panicked he became. Where was he? Why was he stumbling around like a newborn? Why did his head hurt so badly? His entire body felt so heavy, but there was this voice at the back of his head, a familiar voice, screaming at him, telling him to run, don’t stop, find the guards, find someone, but he was so confused.

Why did he have to find guards? What guards? He was so tired, so dizzy, he didn’t care about finding any guards or soldiers, he wanted to stop running so he could rest. Things would make more sense once he’d rested some. Staggering from between two towering trees, his eyes fell upon a large clearing, so inviting with the clovers on the ground and the little purple flowers blooming from between the green. It was beautiful, and perfect, and after managing a few more steps he fell to his knees, then promptly onto his hands, heavy pants burning through his lungs as his shoulders heaved.

Green hair fell over his shoulders and veiled around his face, blocking out his view of the clearing and pooling onto the ground beneath his head. It was light green in color, like lime or mint, and he couldn’t help but stare at it numbly, feeling utterly baffled. Was that his hair? It was long, why was it so long? Did he like it long? Wouldn’t that naturally get in his way? His eyes turned away from his hair and instead locked onto a tiny spot of red that had appeared suddenly on one of the clover leaves.

Curious, he lifted one of the hands that were planted against the ground and instead reached out to touch the little spot before turning his hand so his palm was facing him, and stared at the red smeared across his fingers, eyes growing wide when another spot appeared on the heel of his palm, then another, dripping down his wrist.

It took him a moment to slowly raise his trembling hand to his head, a hitch catching in his throat when he felt a hot substance cover his fingers, pulling his hand away to see it was covered entirely in red blood.

So, he was hurt after all. He did get hit. But hit by what? How bad was the wound? What should he do? Most importantly, why couldn’t he remember? He sat back on his heels and carefully pushed his hair away from his face to keep it out of the wound, his eyes panning around the area to see if he could recognize anything, idly wondering where he was and how he got there in the first place.

His vision was still blurring at the edges, his head ached, he was so tired. That’s right, he was going to lie down, because he was tired. He was bleeding, but it didn’t appear to be too bad, and it wasn’t bleeding heavily enough to concern him. Surely resting for a little would be good for him, right?

It was a trial to lie down on his side, as his whole body felt strange, lagging in a way, but the cool feel of the clover against his cheek was soothing, and he instantly started to relax and sink into the natural bedding, his eyes drooping as he felt something hot carve between his eyes from his temple.

God, he was so tired, so dizzy. Just… a few moments of shut eye. Then he’d be perfectly fine. He would wake up and remember everything that had happened and why he was wounded so severely. Sleep would be perfect. His energy would be renewed, the bleeding stopped completely, maybe… maybe he would even be able to trek back the way he came to see if anyone else had been hurt besides him.

Surely, he hadn’t been alone. He could feel it, somehow there was this ache in his chest, this feeling of loss, of terror and fear, he knew, even if he couldn’t remember it, that there had been others with him. He had to find them. After. After a few moments of rest.

While he laid there, slowly fading from consciousness, he was blissfully unaware of the novice guild trekking through that same forested area. Their bold leader had broken away from the main group, and was sweeping around the perimeter with a sharp eye, carefully easing his way between the trees and searching for any sign of danger, any monster or foe that could put his friends in harm’s way.

Instead of finding an enemy, when he stepped between two trees and into the clearing, he found someone lying unconscious in the clovers. A young man, possibly in his late teens, with soft features and long light green hair that was fanned around him, knotted in places, his bangs stained red, pale green leaves stuck through it, likely from trudging through the forests of the Labyrinth.

He appeared to be unconscious, and as the protector came closer he was distressed to find that the red in his hair was in fact blood, which was streaking down over the young man’s face from a terrible wound on his head. His clothes were ragged, dirty, and stained in mud and blood, torn in some spots, and suspiciously without any armor, weapons, or supplies at all.

What fool would come into the Labyrinth without any way to protect himself? The protector knelt at the unconscious stranger’s head and reached out to carefully push his bangs to the side, revealing the wound clearly, starting from just above his left eyebrow and dragging crookedly across his forehead to his left temple, where it buried into his hairline and finally stopped just above his ear.

It was such a raggedly made gash, there was no doubt it would leave a scar, no matter how good of a medic treated him. The wound itself, however, appeared… somewhat unusual. At first glance the protector would have assumed it had been made by hitting the ground, or perhaps an outcropping of jagged boulders, but now that he was closer, he saw no debris in the wound. Indeed, it was a very uneven cut, bleeding heavily and deep enough that his heart was pounding in panic, but it was a relatively clean injury.

“Dyria!” the protector heard his younger brother’s voice call for him, and lifted his head up with a heavy frown before calling back.

“I’m here! The clearing just to the east!”

“What the hell are you doing there?!” Dyria heard the bushes rustle and twigs snap as the other three of his guild started to make their way towards him.

Dyria just turned his head back down to the strange young man, carefully rolling him onto his back and looking slowly over his body for any other wounds, but besides a few scratches and scrapes, the gash to his head was the worst. He carefully slipped his arm just beneath the poor boy’s shoulders, propping him up and cringing as his head hung just over his forearm, green hair hanging in his face.

There were leaves stuck in his long hair, so Dyria reached over to brush them away, picking them out and lifting one, twisting the stem in curiosity as the pleasant, strong scent filled his nose, “Sage…,” he mumbled before looking up, “I found someone!” he called, “He’s hurt!”

“What?” his brother breathed, breaking through the trees with the other two members of their guild, “Holy shit.”

Their brown-haired medic stepped around Dyria’s brother and hurried forward, kneeling beside the injured stranger, and reaching out to tap his cheek a few times, “Was he unconscious when you found him?”

“Yes. I don’t know if he has a concussion, but I’d assume he does just by looking at how bad it is. He’s breathing, though.”

“Which is a good sign,” the medic agreed, digging around in his bag and pulling out a clean gauze pad, using it to dab at the wound gently, “It’s pretty deep. We need to get him to the hospital in town.”

“Can you do anything for him?” Dyria asked, and the medic pressed his lips into a thin line before searching his bag and coming back with a bottle of medica, staring down at it.

“I can clean the wound with this, but… it would work best if he could drink some, and with his head wound, I’d feel better if he was awake. At least until we know the severity of his condition.”

“Want me to wake him up?” the survivalist standing behind Dyria asked, and Dyria rolled his eyes before reaching up and patting the unconscious boy’s cheek a few times.

“Hey, are you alive? I need you to wake up.”

Everyone tensed up when his eyebrows furrowed, and a pained moan caught in his throat as he rolled his head towards Dyria, pinching his eyes tighter before slowly easing them open to reveal stunning magenta iris’. They were glassy and unfocussed as the young man rolled his head back and looked up, his eyes catching with Dyria’s and filling with what could only be confusion.

“Who…”

“Dyria, my name is Dyria. You’re safe. Can you tell us your name?”

He seemed to be assessing Dyria’s words before he furrowed his brow again, “I… can’t remember.”

“That’s to be expected,” the medic assured, lifting a hand, and pushing green hair away from the wound so he could go back to cleaning the blood away from it, “With a head injury like this, things are sure to be fuzzy.”

“No, I… can’t remember anything.”

“Full amnesia?” Dyria questioned, and the medic nibbled on his lip before offering the young man a smile.

“It’s alright now, we’ll look after you. My name is Emery, I’m a medic. The survivalist there is Iliad, and the troubadour is Vien. Are you sure you can’t remember your name?”

The stranger barely shook his head, and Emery hummed a little, looking distressed as he turned away from the wound and soaked a clean pad of gauze with medica, handing the bottle to Dyria before holding the cloth against the wound.

“Have him drink that,” he ordered, taking the boy’s chin with his fingers and tugging at it to part his lips, “Carefully,” he smiled in reassurance, “You need to drink this medica, it will help you.”

Pink eyes flashed to Dyria as he placed the lip of the bottle against the boy’s mouth, tipping it so the elixir could pour steadily into his throat. He didn’t jerk or try to refuse the medicine, luckily, but he looked so exhausted there was probably no way he could anyway.

“Good,” Emery pushed back the green hair and smiled a little warmer, “Now, what should we call you?”

“He’s not a pet,” Iliad scoffed, and Dyria looked up at Emery.

“Sage,” he said, and Emery tipped his head to the side.

“Why?”

“This was in his hair,” Dyria lifted the leaf, then looked around the area, “It must have gotten tangled somewhere else, because I can’t see any in the clearing. Maybe we can figure out what happened to him with this.”

“Sage, huh?” Vien repeated, leaning over Emery to stare down at the boy now dubbed Sage, who was looking around at all of them appearing confused, “I think it suits him.”

“You’re all idiots,” Iliad chided, walking around his older brother to stand behind Vien, “Let’s just hurry back to town before he dies, unless you want to try healing him here, Emery.”

The medic bristled, his face paling as he shook his head, “No, we need to get him to Dr Stiles. I… I can’t do it on my own.”

Dyria frowned at the medic, “Em-.”

“Let’s go,” Emery interrupted as he stood, “Can you carry him?”

“Yes,” Dyria assured, hooking his right arm beneath Sage’s knees and carefully pulling his limp body to his chest before standing up, “Iliad, activate an Ariadne Thread. We’re not too far from the stairs, but the sooner we’re back in Lagaard the better.”

“Right,” Iliad pushed at Vien to get him closer to the group, reaching for the thread around his wrist.

Sage was in a state of confusion as the foliage of the woods gave way to open sky that was bright blue and dotted with clouds. The man holding him, Dyria, was wearing armor, so he wasn’t exactly the most comfortable to be lying against, but in his current condition, nothing would be particularly comfortable.

“Sage,” Dyria jostled him, and Sage furrowed his brow in confusion, “What class of explorer are you? Can you remember? What happened to your guild?”

“Dyria, don’t push him,” Emery chided, “You can tell just by looking at him, he probably doesn’t even have a guild anymore.”

“Hell, maybe he never had one,” Iliad added, “Maybe he’s just a civilian who got too curious.”

“The guards wouldn’t let that happen,” Vien argued, “I don’t think.”

“I’m just trying to keep him awake until we get him to the hospital,” Dyria explained before looking down at Sage, “So?”

Sage shook his head, “I don’t know. M-my head…”

“Do you remember anything at all?” Emery asked, and Sage bit onto his bottom lip.

“Yellow,” he said softly, “Yellow eyes. I remember… screaming, and running, and… blood…,” Sage started to tremble, his eyes wide, “I can’t… remember…”

“Easy, you’re okay,” Dyria tried to soothe him, tightening his hold and bowing his head a little, “You’re safe.”

Sage nodded his head, looking around at the other guild members who had wandered ahead. There were only four of them, and he looked over each of them as carefully as his dizzy mind would allow. With the uncertainty of what had taken place and the frustrating lack of memories, Sage had to concentrate on something, anything, besides himself.

The medic, Emery, was rather simple looking, with pale brown hair and dark, striking orange eyes. Sage would go as far as to call him plain, boring almost, but there was this look in his eyes, haunted in a way, hiding something that defined him, and not in a good way.

The troubadour, Vien, had more of an eccentric look to him. Dark pink hair that grew out to his shoulders, styled with half of it pulled up and tied at the very back of his head with a silk red ribbon, a lute hanging at his back and playful silver eyes that gave him a rather pleasant and cheerful demeanor.

Iliad was the survivalist, sporting messy black hair that had several sections braided, one behind his right ear, one hanging just in front of his left and framing his face, a few others hidden at the back and sides. His eyes were a dark blue color, and he didn’t look particularly friendly, but Sage figured he would rather spend time with an unsociable explorer rather than whatever had done this to him.

The fourth and last member of the guild that had essentially saved his life was the protector, Dyria. His hair was a similar ink black color as Iliad’s, thick and feathered on his head, and his eyes were a piercing green color like lime. His skin, like Iliad’s, had a rather creamy caramel tone to it, as if they’d grown up somewhere with a lot of sun, or perhaps inherited it from a parent with dark skin, but it was very appealing to the eye, and Sage found himself staring.

He must have been somewhat older than Sage, he just had that weathered and timely heaviness to his eyes, a maturity that surpassed most others his age, and there was barely noticeable dark stubble along his jaw that made him look even more like a busy explorer of the Labyrinth.

It was difficult to keep his eyes on Dyria, as his vision was continuously coming in and out of focus, blurring at the edges and darkening before clearing back up so he could make out the color of Dyria’s eyes. With so much going on, it somehow made Sage feel secure and safe to be near a protector.

He couldn’t remember much of himself, or what had happened that day, or even yesterday, or his own name or even how old he was, but he remembered scraps, random bits and pieces, all of them scattered and distorted, possibly not even true, but there was something in his head telling him protectors were safe, they could be trusted, so he gladly curled into Dyria’s arms.

“Guild,” he mumbled, his throat dry and his voice whispered, “Your guild…”

“What about it?” Dyria looked down at Sage, who slowly lifted his gaze up to meet his green eyes.

“What do you call it?”

“Nothing,” Dyria shrugged, “Not yet at least. We’re rookies, noobs, this was only our fifth time in the Labyrinth. We’ve got a few ideas, but we can’t seem to agree on anything, so we’ve just been an unnamed guild for the few weeks we’ve been here,” he looked back down at Sage, “What about your guild?”

Sage frowned, “Mine…,” his eyes drooped a little, “I don’t know.”

Dyria eyed him for a moment before looking back up, “You’ll remember eventually. Just try to be optimistic. Maybe someone from the hospital will recognize you.”

That was possible, but the uncertainty of it all made Sage feel sick, wrapping his arms around himself and lying his head heavily against the cold metal armor on Dyria’s shoulder. Everything would be okay. It had to be. Sage… didn’t want to think of the bad things right now, the darkness that was suddenly surrounding him.

He was scared, but when he looked up, the sun was just beginning to rise, casting rays of golden light streaking across the sky, hitting the clouds and turning them into a gorgeous dark purple pool. The light itself seemed to be backing Dyria, making it appear as if there was a ring of gold surrounding him, outlining his face and his dark hair and making him look almost angelic.

Yea, it may have been scary, but Sage felt calm. Dyria could be trusted. He had to believe that this protector would take care of him, bring him to the hospital and make sure he could find whatever ties he had to Lagaard so he could start to heal, start to remember who he really was, maybe even find his guild, because there was no way he had entered the Labyrinth on his own. Sage may have been suffering from amnesia, but he knew he wasn’t an idiot.

He would be okay. Somehow.

[mistical52]

Time Travel! Now You’re Smol Again!

I've been wanting to do a time travel fic for atla for a bit, but I didn't really have a plan. Then @captainkirkk answered a few askes on Tumblr namely, when would be the worst time to send Zuko back into the past?

The answer was, of course, the Angi Kai.

Yeah so here we are! I hope everyone enjoys!

Also, it’s on Ao3 if you like that format better. 

- - - 

It was the Agni Kai. Zuko hadn’t had this nightmare for years. Every time he thought he was over it the nightmare would happen again. Zuko would never be free of this day. 

The Fire Sage called for the match to begin. 

Zuko tensed as he turned, he knew what was happening. He knew what was going to happen. He was too small, too young, too inexperienced as always. 

Zuko tried to breathe, even as his eyes landed on his father. He could see his father so well with both eyes and Zuko could hear every step so clearly with both ears. 

That was strange, he could never see or hear this well from his left side. Zuko had spent almost half his life with his scar. It had been so long that he had all but forgotten what it was like to have full vision and hearing. He never had full vision or hearing in his dreams anymore. Why did he now?

His father was stepping closer, and with every step, Zuko tensed more, “Please father,” fell from his lips before he registered his mouth opening, “I’m sorry I spoke out of turn. Please, father, I am your loyal son,” the words felt like ash in his mouth. Zuko was still standing but he was shrinking and curling in on himself. 

Every part of him was screaming to move as Ozai came closer. A number of the parts sounded like his friends. Suki, Aang, Katara, Sokka and Toph. They screamed and shouted at him. This was his life. He should stand up for it. He didn’t deserve this. A yell that sounded a lot like ‘Move Sparky!’ finally jolted Zuko into action. 

Zuko took up a weak stance, “I do not wish to fight you father.” Zuko’s heart was thundering in his ears. 

“You will fight for your honour,” declared Ozai. 

That, that was what properly snapped Zuko out of it. He had his honour. Zuko was the one who decided if he lost his honour, not his father. “I do not wish to fight you father, but I will.” Zuko straightened and his eyes burned with determination.

Ozai must have seen some of it because he stopped and slid into a stance. 

“I am not fighting for my honour, you are fighting for yours,” declared Zuko. 

That got a reaction out of Ozai, it was a twisted smile, “Oh am I? And why is that?”

“You have disgraced the Fire Nation. You twist history to favour the Fire Nation. You let people go hungry in favour of military productions, you send a battalion of recruits out to be slaughtered as bait and that’s just a handful of examples,” supplied Zuko. 

Ozai’s face scrunched into a scowl, “You will hold your tongue if you know what’s good for you.” 

“Sorry, but I’m pretty bad at risk assessments regarding myself,” said Zuko with a wiry smile. Zuko couldn’t believe it, he was sticking up for himself against his father during the Agni Kai. His nightmare never went this well. Zuko let out a breath. It felt strangely real. Everything felt far too real for a dream. Zuko pushed that thought from his mind. Technically if Zuko defeated his father he could be crowned Fire Lord. This was an Agni Ka after all. 

“You have brought dishonour to the Fire Nation, as such you are unfit to rule,” Zuko was painting a large target on his back now, “I challenge you for the title of Fire Lord.” 

The crowd collectively gasped and Zuko heard a quiet ‘Zuko no’ from his uncle. 

Ozai’s eyes narrowed, “You ignorant,” Ozai took a step forward, flames curling around his hands, “foolish,” Ozai stepped closer, “child.” Ozai stopped two steps from Zuko, “You will pay for your insolence. You are no match for me!”

“And yet you challenged me anyway,” retorted Zuko looking his father in the eye.  

With a snarl, Ozai pushed a jet of fire towards Zuko’s face. Zuko inhaled as he swiftly stepped under the attack. Zuko exhaled as he brought his foot down with a flash of fire next to Ozai’s foot. Ozai took a hasty step back from the flames and Zuko pushed forward with the same attack. Every step was fire right next to Ozai’s feet. Zuko was breaking Ozai’s root and causing the Fire Lord to stumble. 

After seven steps of an embarrassing retreat, Ozia had had enough. Fire under Ozai’s feet sent him up and over Zuko and away from the fire step. As Ozai flew overhead he poured fire over the top of Zuko, who just managed to roll out of the way. When Zuko recovered he returned fire and sent his own fireball, however, Ozai swatted it out of his way before he landed. They were now facing the opposite way. Ozai was standing where Zuko started and Zuko was on his father side of the court. 

Ozai set up his stance and released a large stream of fire that rushed towards Zuko. This stream of fire was large enough and strong enough to reach Zuko from halfway across the field. If this was against any inexperienced bender or a non-bender then it would have been deadly. However, this was Fire Lord Zuko, who had sparred with Aang, Katara, Azula and Toph. Azula at twenty-three was at least as good as father before he lost his bending, likely better. 

Zuko breathed and parted the mass of angry rushing flames. The stream of fire was long and intense, however, the fire all flew past him leaving Zuko completely untouched. 

Once the fire died down there were murmurs in the crowd when they saw Zuko still standing. 

“Huh, Zuzu’s gotten better.” was the only actual sentence Zuko heard.

Ozai’s eyes were wide as he stared at Zuko for a moment before Ozai’s features pulled into a scowl again. 

Zuko breathed in and took a leaping step forward before shooting a curling jet of fire towards Ozai. Zuko’s wasn’t quite as big, but it was bright and flecked with purple, pink and green. It was a powerful torrent of colours and heat, which Zuko had only begun to perfect in recent years. Zuko didn’t need colours in his fire, however, it was a great distraction technique. 

When Zuko let his fire go he was not surprised to see his father still standing. Zuko knew he would need to do better to defeat his father whether it be in reality or a dream. 

A flicker of blue and a slight shift in stance was all the warning Zuko got as he saw Ozai send lighting crackling towards him. 

“No!” came a terror filled cry from Iroh in the stands. 

Zuko paid little attention to his uncle’s distress, everything was under control. Zuko caught the lighting and sent it back to Ozai’s feet just as quickly. The lighting sparked up a bang of fire and smoke where it hit the ground. Zuko rushed in and sent a short flare of fire ahead to keep him covered. The smoke cleared enough for Ozai to see the blaze of fire heading towards him. Ozai pushed the fire aside but failed to notice the small boy just behind it. By the time Ozai’s vision was clear Zuko had slid down and knocked Ozai’s feet out from under him. 

When all of the smoke and fire gone, it was easy to see Fire Lord Ozai on his back with Zuko’s fist inches from his face. 

So many emotions crossed his father's face as Zuko held his small fist in front of it. There was surprise, confusion, frustration and fear. Zuko felt satisfaction seeing the fear cross his father's face, but that satisfaction was replaced in an instant by guilt. Zuko had no desire to take pleasure in fear or pain. He was nothing like his father. Zuko would never hurt an innocent and he would not let Ozai hurt the innocent anymore. 

Zuko held his fist there for a number of long moment. 

“Finish it!” snarled Ozai. 

Zuko’s face twisted int a sour expression. Zuko shot a burning ball fo fire, it scorched the ground next to his father’s left ear. 

“I don’t take orders from you anymore,” retorted Zuko as he stared down at Ozai with eyes far older than his face. 

“Coward,” snapped Ozai. 

“It’s called mercy, but I suppose you don’t know what that is,” commented Zuko unimpressed at his father’s remark. 

“Prince Zuko is the winner of the Agni Kai,” announced the Fire Sage, “As witnessed by the Agni, Prince Zuko defeated Fire Lord Ozai in the challenge for honour and the throne,” the Fire Sage paused and swallowed, “As such Prince Zuko is now the Fire Lord.” 

Everyone in the stands was silent. While Ozai’s mouth tipped down to an angry silent snarl. 

Zuko eyed Ozai for a little longer before lowering his stance and backing off. 

Zuko’s eyes swept over the crowd. Iroh looked so relieved and when he made eye contact with Zuko he visibly sagged and his eyes softened.  

Now that the fight had ended Zuko couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more than a dream. It couldn’t be real, could it? 

What was the last thing he remembered? Where did he fall asleep again? Was it at his desk? Zuko didn’t remember going to sleep. 

“When did you learn to fight?” barked Ozai, his tone made it sound like a command. Ozai was more or less sitting now.  

“When I started bending. But I learnt the most from my friends,” 

His friends, wasn’t he with his friends? Investigating a spirit problem? 

“You don’t have any friends,” sneered Ozai. 

“I do. We’ve beaten you and brought balance to the world,” 

Osai scoffed, “Your reign hasn’t begun yet.”

Zuko looked his father dead in the eyes, “Yes it has.” 

Silent fury slithered onto Ozai’s face, creeping into his fingers and curling his hands. 

Zuko’s eyes flicked back to the stand where Iroh started making his way to the arena with Azula. Iroh looked back at Zuko and instantly Iroh’s eyes widened and Iroh opened his mouth to yell a warning. 

Zuko saw Iroh’s expression, he heard the shifting of arena ground and the rustle of fabric. Zuko’s eyes snapped to his father. Ozai was lunging at Zuko his right hand hot and heading straight for Zuko’s face. Everything was so slow, Zuko saw it, he almost froze at the sight. The yell in the back of his mind and the yell from his uncle, along with his fighting experience managed to keep Zuko moving. Zuko tried to back away from the flaming hand. Zuko raised his right hand and sparks became a fire that pushed out making its way towards Ozai’s chest. Zuko tried to push Ozai back with fire, to keep him at a distance while his left came up to try and push Ozai’s hand off course. Ozai brought up a hand to push some of the fire away. He still kept coming each millisecond he was closing in the gap. The hand brushed against Zuko’s left forearm and instantly the heat and pain shot through Zuko’s arm. However, Ozai’s hand was forced up slightly. The face was no longer the target, now it was just the eye. 

Ozai’s hand connected. The pain was agony. This wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t a nightmare. This was real! 

Ozai couldn’t hold for long, Zuko was still trying to push Ozai away with fire, and it was working. Ozai could only block so much. As soon as Ozai connected he expected Zuko’s flames to die out but they burned, larger, hotter and brighter. Ozai couldn’t redirect the flames, he had to let go and dodge Zuko’s fire. He didn’t manage to escape unscathed. Ozai had small burns from the licks of fire that got past his defences. 

Zuko cut his fire and scrambled away with quickened breaths as soon as Ozai let go. Zuko brought his left arm up to cover his injured face before he shot out a warning fireball at Ozai’s feet. Ozai just laughed as he advanced, 

“I told you that you were no match for me,” Ozai continued to step forward. 

A wall of fire flared to life between Zuko and Ozai. 

“That is far enough brother,” said Iroh firmly from the edge of the burning wall. 

“Uncle,” Zuko whispered. 

Rushing footsteps approached Zuko. Looking at the noise Zuko tensed until he recognised the Royal Physician. 

“Prince Zuko!” the physician called as they skidded to a stop next to Zuko. 

“Hello, Physician Tomo. I think I have a little burn,” said Zuko quietly as he swayed a little. Zuko lent his good side onto the physician and promptly passed out. Uncle was here, he wouldn’t let anyone hurt him now.