The Fire Nation Prince

Chapter 48: Rematch

The warship’s hull groaned like a wounded leviathan as it sliced through the ink-black waves of the Fire Nation’s western sea. Inside the captain’s quarters, Commander Zhao leaned back in his chair, a half-empty bottle of plum wine dangling from his fingers. The room reeked of salt, smoke, and ambition. Across the table, Lieutenant Tau, a wiry man with a scar bisecting his lip—shoveled a mouthful of eel-rice into his mouth, his eyes darting nervously to the storm clouds gathering beyond the porthole.

“The report came in sir. The men followed your instructions and it worked, another Earth Kingdom village reduced to cinders,” Tau said, raising his cup in a mock toast. His voice was too loud, too eager. “You’ll have your own fleet soon, Commander. Mark my words.”

Zhao snorted, swirling the wine in its bottle. “Fleets are for men who seek power. I am so glad that is the kind of person I am.” He glanced at the map pinned to the wall, its edges singed from too many candles. ”When we receive new orders we will be departing this port soon. We will get back in the good graces of the Master.”

Tau opened his mouth to reply when a fist hammered against the door, three sharp, militaristic raps.

“Enter,” Zhao barked.

The door creaked open, and the temperature in the room plummeted. A soldier stood framed in the doorway, his armor gleaming, not the dull iron of the naval ranks, but polished obsidian, etched with gold filigree that spiraled into the Flame of Agni. His helmet obscured all but his eyes, which burned with the cold intensity of a predator. Over his shoulders hung a cloak the color of fresh blood, its edges embroidered with phoenix feathers. Imperial Firebender. The Fire Lord’s own.

Tau choked on his rice, scrambling to his feet so fast his chair clattered to the floor. He pressed his forehead to the ground, trembling. Zhao rose slowly, his jaw tight.

“Commander Zhao,” the soldier intoned, his voice like gravel dragged over stone. He did not bow.

“To what do I owe this… privilege?” Zhao’s tone dripped with venom, but his pulse quickened. Imperial Firebenders didn’t deliver good news.

The soldier withdrew a scroll from his belt, its crimson parchment sealed with black wax stamped with Ozai’s personal sigil: a dragon coiled around a sun. “Orders from the Fire Lord.”

Zhao snatched the scroll, cracking the seal with a thumbnail. The words seared into his vision:

*-*

By decree of Fire Lord Ozai, Commander Zhao is hereby summoned to the Capital Arena at dawn tomorrow to face Prince Zuko in an Agni Kai sanctioned by the throne. Attendance is mandatory. Refusal will have dire consequences.

*-*

Tau peeked up from the floor. “An Agni Kai? But you already humiliated the prince! What’s the point of...”

“Silence,” Zhao hissed. His mind raced. Ozai’s game was clear: this wasn’t a rematch, it was a purge. Either Zuko would die proving his worth, or Zhao would burn as a lesson in loyalty. He crumpled the scroll in his fist, flames licking between his fingers.

The Imperial Firebender tilted his head, unimpressed. “The Fire Lord expects your compliance.”

“Of course,” Zhao spat. “Tell His Majesty I will attend the battle.”

The soldier turned to leave, his cloak hissing against the floorboards. At the threshold, he paused. “One more thing. The Fire Lord advises you to… prepare thoroughly. It has been rumoured the Prince has gotten immensely powerful with his bending.”

The door slammed shut.

Tau finally dared to rise, his face ashen. “This is a trap. Ozai’s setting you up to kill Zuko himself. If you win, you’re a traitor for spilling royal blood. If you lose…”

“If I lose, I’m carrion,” Zhao finished, sinking back into his chair. He stared at the map, at the jagged coastline of the Earth Kingdom. “But Ozai underestimates me. He always has, I will make sure the Prince faces me with his all and then. will take it and still win.”

“Commander, be reasonable,” Tau pleaded. “You could fake an illness, sabotage your ship, anything to avoid this!”

Zhao’s fist slammed onto the table, rattling the dishes. “Avoid it? This is the moment I’ve waited for! That spoiled brat thinks he can outmaneuver me? That rumoured firebending trick of his is a parlor show. I’ll carve him apart in front of the entire court. And when I do…” He leaned forward, his eyes alight. “Ozai will have no choice but to name me his successor.”

Tau swallowed hard. “And if the prince isn’t bluffing? What if he’s stronger now?”

Zhao’s smile was a knife’s edge. “Then I’ll enjoy the challenge.”

---

Dawn painted the Capital Arena in hues of blood and gold. The amphitheater, a colossal ring of black volcanic stone, thrummed with the chatter of a thousand nobles, generals, and silk-clad courtiers. Braziers lined the perimeter, their flames twisting into the sky like serpents. At the center of the pit, a circle of white sand awaited the combatants, pristine and ominous.

At the northern entrance, Prince Zuko stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the distant mountains. The last time he’d stood here, the sand had been stained with his blood.

“Why are you spacing out, Prince Zuko?”

Katara’s voice startled him. She lingered several paces back, her wrists bound in thin iron cuffs, her Water Tribe blues dulled by weeks of captivity. Behind her, Iroh emerged, balancing a teacup on a saucer as though they were strolling through a garden.

“The last time I was here…” Zuko trailed off, his fingers brushing the edge of his scar.

Iroh’s jovial façade faltered. “His father demanded an Agni Kai,” he said quietly, answering Katara’s unspoken question. “Zuko refused to fight. The Fire Lord… did not take kindly to his defiance.”

Katara’s breath caught. She’d heard rumors of the banished prince’s disgrace, but the truth was uglier. “And this Zhao… he’s the same man who defeated you before?”

Zuko’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”

“But you let him win,” Iroh interjected. “To keep your mission secret. To protect the Avatar.”

Katara frowned. “So this time… you’ll actually try?”

Zuko turned to her, his golden eyes hard. “This time, I intend to win.”

“But how?” she pressed. “The Fire Lord is the most powerful firebender alive. If Zhao is just some… provincial commander…”

Iroh sighed. “Zhao is no provincial fool, my dear. He trained under Master JeongJeong, the same instructor who was taught by Fire Lord Azulon. His techniques are… unorthodox. Brutal. And he has a gift for large scale firebending just like JeonJeong.”

Zuko flexed his fingers, blue flames flickering to life in his palm. “He’s never seen this.”

A gong reverberated through the arena, drowning Katara’s retort. The crowd erupted as Zuko stepped onto the sand, his black and crimson armor gleaming. Across the pit, Zhao emerged, his smirk venomous, his stance wide and predatory.

Fire Lord Ozai’s voice boomed from the royal dais, colder than winter steel:

“BEGIN!!!”

The arena sand hissed beneath their boots, still damp with dawn’s dew. Mist clung to the air, diffusing the pale gold light of the rising sun. Zuko crouched low, his fingers brushing the ground, while Zhao stood tall, shoulders squared like a fortress. The crowd’s murmurs faded to a breathless hush.

Zhao moved first, a whip-crack of orange flame erupted from his fist, streaking toward Zuko’s chest. The prince pivoted, the fire grazing his shoulder as he rolled sideways, kicking up a spray of sand. Before he could rise, Zhao’s second attack came: a molten arc of fire shaped like a tiger’s claw, raking the ground where Zuko had landed. The sand blackened instantly, smoking.

Zuko sprang backward, his breathing steady. Too slow. Predictable. Zhao’s lips curled. “Still running, Prince?”

Zuko darted forward, feinting left before twisting right. His hands slashed the air, conjuring twin ribbons of fire that spiraled toward Zhao like serpents. The commander snarled, crossing his arms to block, but the flames clung, searing his vambraces. He shook them off, the metal glowing red, and retaliated with a roaring fireball that exploded at Zuko’s feet.

The prince leapt straight up, tucking into a flip, and landed lightly behind Zhao. A flick of his wrist sent a concentrated jet of flame at the commander’s back. Zhao spun, barely deflecting it with a wall of orange fire that collided with Zuko’s attack in a crackling burst of sparks. The crowd gasped as embers rained down.

Zhao lunged again, closing the distance. His fists became blurs, each punch unleashing compact firebursts aimed at Zuko’s torso. The prince ducked and weaved, his movements fluid as water, but Zhao’s aggression forced him toward the arena’s edge. A vicious uppercut grazed Zuko’s chin, singeing his skin. He staggered, tasting blood.

“Pathetic,” Zhao spat, pressing his advantage. He slammed a heel into the sand, triggering a wave of fire that rippled outward. Zuko backflipped, his hands planting on the ground as the flames licked beneath him, scorching the hem of his tunic.

Zuko’s eyes narrowed. Zhao’s attacks were brutish, but precise, every motion optimized to corner, not kill. He’s savoring this. The prince channeled his frustration into his feet, skidding sideways to carve a half-circle in the sand. As Zhao charged, Zuko pivoted and unleashed a spinning wheel of orange-white hot fire, forcing the commander to halt and shield his face.

The distraction gave Zuko an opening. He slid low, sweeping a leg toward Zhao’s ankles, but the commander anticipated it. Zhao stomped down, crushing Zuko’s boot under his heel while firing a point-blank blast at his chest. Zuko twisted desperately, the flames scorching his left arm instead. The stench of burnt fabric and flesh filled the air.

”Is this you not holding back Prince Zuko!?” Zhao mocked. ”If it is, I am very disappointed in you.”

Zuko’s gaze flickered to the sky, the sun was climbing, its light still diluted by haze. Just barely rising above the horizon. ’We’re both weakened.’ He forced himself upright, ignoring the pain. “You talk too much.”

Zuko shifted tactics. Instead of broad attacks, he began firing needle-thin jets of orange flame, each aimed at Zhao’s pressure points: knees, elbows, throat. The commander batted them aside, but the strikes chipped at his focus. One slipped through, searing a hole in Zhao’s shoulder plate. He growled, retaliating with a furious volley of fire daggers.

Zuko danced around them, his movements almost playful. He cartwheeled over a flaming arc, landed in a crouch, and retaliated with a whip of fire that snapped at Zhao’s face. The commander recoiled, a thin burn mark slashing across his cheek.

Zhao’s composure cracked. “Enough!” He slammed his palms together, summoning a swirling vortex of fire that consumed the space between them. The inferno roared, sucking oxygen from the air, and for a heartbeat, Zuko hesitated, ’too wide to dodge’.

But instead of retreating, he charged into the flames.

The crowd screamed as Zuko vanished inside the firestorm… only to erupt from its apex, propelled by a geyser of orange flame. He plummeted toward Zhao, fists blazing, and drove a double-fisted strike into the commander’s chest. The impact blasted Zhao backward, his armor screeching against the sand as he skidded to the arena’s edge.

For a moment, the world stilled. Zuko landed in a crouch, chest heaving, his left arm trembling. Zhao lay sprawled, his breath ragged, fingers clawing at the sand. The mist had burned away, and the sun now hung clear and bright, its strength moments away. Not as strong as noon but strong enough.

Zhao staggered to his feet, his face a mask of fury. “You… insect.”

Zuko rose slowly, orange-white flames wreathed around his fists like twin dragons. “Come on, Zhao. Let’s finish this.”

[A/N: Can’t wait to see what happens next? Get exclusive early access on .com/saiyanprincenovels.]