The Fire Nation Prince

Chapter 9: Arrival and Departure

The island of Tutanaki came into view just as the sky began to shift from rust to pale gold.

It was a quiet mass of jagged rock and broken coastline, its docks stretching out like skeletal fingers into gray water. Beyond the harbor, the land was sparse, no banners, no villages, no gardens, only blunt ridgelines and a few crooked trees shaped by wind and neglect. The base was visible even from a distance: squat, utilitarian, constructed of thick steel panels bolted to stone foundations. A thin trail of smoke curled from its engine stacks, trailing upward into the sharp morning.

This wasn’t a stronghold. It wasn’t even a fortress.

It was a listening post, a forward station used mostly for weapons testing, sea chart corrections, and brief refueling. A place the Fire Nation forgot until it needed reminding that the sea beyond wasn’t always theirs.

It was perfect.

Zuko stood at the prow of the ship, arms folded, cloak sweeping behind him as the chaser-class cruiser slowed its approach. The deck beneath him rumbled gently, steam pressure hissing through release vents. His golden eyes studied the coastline like a man searching for meaning in a bruise.

Beside him, Rin stood silent, his posture alert, but not rigid. He had been Zuko’s shadow since the journey began, never more than a few paces behind. Where Zuko walked, Rin followed. Not as a bodyguard. As a constant.

The ship’s klaxon sounded once, low and brief.

Zuko exhaled.

“She’s uglier than I remember,” he said flatly.

Rin smirked. “You’ve been here before?”

“Once. During exile,” Zuko replied. “You were out with a cold then. We were low on coal. Thought the place was abandoned. Commander nearly shit himself when I walked in through the back gate.”

Rin chuckled quietly. “How long ago?”

“Just over a year ago,” Zuko said. “They didn’t even know who I was back then.”

“Bet they’ll remember this time.”

Zuko didn’t respond right away. He watched as dockhands below scrambled into view, waving red signaling flags and guiding the cruiser in. There were no cheers, no ceremonial fanfare. Only motion and hesitation. The presence of a royal ship, any royal ship, this far out was enough to shake the foundations of routine.

“I want to keep this quiet,” Zuko said at last. “No full entourage. Just you and me.”

“Understood,” Rin nodded. “What’s the cover?”

Zuko tilted his head slightly. “Routine inspection. Noticed some inconsistencies in last season’s maintenance logs. Came to verify resource reports firsthand.”

Rin raised a brow. “That’s not even remotely interesting.”

“Exactly.”

The cruiser hissed as it locked into the docking clamps. The gangplank dropped with a clunk, its rails extending to meet the pier. A gust of sea wind swept across the deck, catching the edge of Zuko’s cloak as he stepped forward.

“You think they’ll buy it?” Rin asked as they began their descent.

“They’ll have to,” Zuko replied. “This base isn’t used to attention. Least of all from the Crown Prince.”

As they reached the dock, boots echoing softly against salt-warped planks, a small unit stood at attention near the entrance gate to the base proper. The leader, a narrow-shouldered officer with a starched uniform and soot-smudged gloves, stepped forward and saluted.

He looked barely thirty. His posture was nervous. His boots were clean.

“Lieutenant Chien, acting base commander, your highness,” the man said quickly, bowing. “We received no warning of you’re arrival. I wasn’t aware this post was under review.”

Zuko nodded, keeping his voice calm and clipped. “It wasn’t. That’s the point.”

Lieutenant Chien blinked, visibly caught off-guard.

“I prefer surprise inspections,” Zuko continued, folding his arms behind his back. “It separates the well-run from the well-painted.”

“I… of course, your highness,” Chien said, sweat already starting to bead at his temples. “Forgive the state of the exterior. We hadn’t expected…”

“I’m not here to inspect the walls,” Zuko cut in. “I’m here to verify the base’s operational integrity. I’ll be reviewing your supply records, crew manifest, outbound message logs, and patrol cycles.”

“Yes, of course,” Chien said quickly, gesturing toward the gate. “This way. I’ll personally escort you to the command hub.”

Zuko started walking without waiting, Rin falling into step beside him.

As the steel gate creaked open and the three of them stepped inside, Rin leaned slightly closer and murmured beneath his breath:

“This is going to be not fun.”

Zuko didn’t answer.

But his eyes were already moving, counting doors, scanning towers, watching the men who didn’t salute and the ones who saluted too late.

Tutanaki was small.

But it would do.

The inside of Tutanaki’s command station was hotter than it should have been.

Steam lines ran just below the floors, and the ventilation system, such as it was, consisted of a few grated panels on the ceiling that hissed like tired tea kettles. The walls were bare metal, sweat-stained and rust-licked at the corners. A handful of junior officers snapped to attention as Zuko passed through, some too quickly, others too slowly.

It smelled like copper, coal dust, and panic.

“Apologies again for the condition of the base, your highness,” Lieutenant Chien said, walking slightly ahead and trying to sound composed. “We’ve had some delays in maintenance. Last shipment of sealant was rerouted to a colony dock last month. Priorities, you know. Bigger fish.”

Zuko said nothing.

Chien cleared his throat. “The command room is just ahead. We’ve prepared the records you requested.”

The door slid open with a reluctant creak, revealing a wide circular chamber filled with long steel tables and a floor-to-ceiling map of the southern sea quadrant. Two soldiers sat hunched over ledgers, a third monitoring the communication documents..

And at the far end of the room, poring over a folder twice her size, stood a young woman, no more than twenty, her black hair tied into a high, no-nonsense bun, her uniform too crisp, too perfect, like she’d ironed it twice that morning. Her posture was immaculate, but the pencil in her hand was tapping a mile a minute.

Chien cleared his throat again. “Ah, Ensign Misa, this is well, you know.”

She looked up, eyes wide.

Then froze.

Zuko watched as she stared a moment too long, then hastily bowed so deeply her forehead practically kissed the table.

“Y-your highness,” she stammered. “I wasn’t- We weren’t- I mean- Welcome!”

Zuko gave a curt nod. “At ease.”

Misa didn’t stand up right away, and when she did, her ears were visibly pink.

Chien coughed loudly. “Yes. Well. Ensign Misa is our lead communications officer and record-keeper. Brilliant. Very meticulous.”

She bowed again.

“I’ll begin the review here,” Zuko said.

Rin entered behind him and took up position near the door, arms folded but watchful.

Chien hurried to the first stack of files and flipped them open with a flourish. “As you can see, we’ve catalogued all incoming and outgoing patrol routes, coal stock distribution, shift rotations, and the, uh, the seafood inventory.”

Zuko raised a brow. “Seafood inventory?”

“Yes,” Chien said quickly. “We, ah, keep records of the fishing quotas reported by local independents. It’s a coastal courtesy.”

Zuko flipped through the pages. “These fuel reports are a mess. Dates are inconsistent. Several shipments logged, but no outbound freight signatures.”

Chien blinked. “Ah. Yes. That’s… because… well, we sometimes use that coal to heat the lower barracks. You see, when the junior officers get cold…”

Zuko held up a hand. “And here, there’s a three-week gap in patrol records.”

“That was during the storm season,” Misa piped up nervously. “The smaller patrol craft were grounded due to hull stress tests not being passed.”

Zuko looked at Chien.

He shrugged. “Our best boat has a dent. Captain swears it’s haunted.”

Zuko stared.

Chien smiled apologetically. “In his defense, it does whistle at night.”

Rin coughed into his hand.

Zuko continued scanning. “These requisition logs show a twenty-percent fuel loss margin every quarter. That’s not inefficiency. That’s theft.”

Chien’s smile vanished. “Ah, about that. We may have… a raccoon-iguana infestation.”

Zuko slowly turned his head.

Chien held up his hands. “I said may!”

Zuko set the files down with a dull thump. “This base is operating at forty percent of its reported capacity, and none of your equipment meets standard military regulation.”

“I-I can explain,” Chien said, sweating now.

“I’d prefer you didn’t.”

Behind him, Misa stepped forward, biting her lower lip.

“We’re understaffed, your highness,” she said quickly. “And forgotten. No one comes out here. Our last audit was over two years ago. And the supply chain…”

Chien turned to her sharply. “Misa…”

“No,” she said, glancing at him, then back to Zuko. “If he’s here, he deserves the truth.”

Zuko studied her.

She stood straighter than Chien. More confident. Honest.

He tapped the table once with his hand. “You’ve been keeping the place afloat with tape and borrowed coal.”

Misa nodded.

“And writing padded reports to keep from getting reassigned.”

“Better than letting the post get shut down,” Chien mumbled.

Zuko turned to Rin. “You think anyone from Central Command has read a report from this place in two years?”

“Not unless they were very bored,” Rin said dryly.

Zuko paced once around the table. “Then we’ll maintain the fiction. For now. But from this point forward, you answer to me.”

Chien blinked. “You mean directly?”

“I mean completely.”

He turned to Misa.

“You. Pull all surveillance logs from the past four weeks. I want full transcriptions of outgoing messages, and I want a new patrol schematic drawn up for the surrounding waters. Anything that moves within 80 klicks, I want to know about it.”

She straightened. “Yes, sir!”

Zuko turned toward the door.

Chien started after him. “Wait, you’re not… reporting us?”

Zuko paused.

“I’m using you.”

Chien opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“…That feels like a promotion.”

Rin clapped him on the shoulder. “Congratulations, lieutenant.”

By midday, the command room had been cleared.

Most of the junior officers had been dismissed with vague orders to “improve alert readiness” or “reorganize rations by weight class,” which meant they would spend the next two hours arguing over supply crates and cursing Zuko’s name under their breath.

That was exactly what he wanted.

Zuko stood at the base’s central table once more, now with fresh ink maps spread before him, updated coastline scans, shipping lane estimates, wind and current models, and smudged hand-drawn terrain renders of nearby sea routes. He ran a finger along a line of red ink that snaked westward toward Kyoshi.

Rin leaned over beside him, his expression taut, his breath quiet.

“You’re sure about going alone?” he asked without looking up.

Zuko nodded. “More eyes means more weight. If this post is compromised, if the palace leak goes deeper, I can’t risk this trip being tracked. A cruiser flagged by central command would light up like a comet.”

“You’re not even taking an escort boat?”

“No,” Zuko said. “A repurposed signal skiff. Modified hull. Civilian registry. Low profile.”

Rin folded his arms. “You’re the Crown Prince. And you want to sneak out of a military base on a fishing tub.”

“Exactly.”

Rin exhaled, slow and dry. “You’re going to give Kuvak a stroke when he finds out.”

Zuko smirked. “Kuvak’s not going to find out.”

There was a pause.

Then: “You’ve already picked the boat, haven’t you?”

Zuko tapped a square on the blueprint in front of them.

“Vessel #12. Outdated, but serviceable. Was decommissioned for deep-sea recon training two months ago. Still runs, if sluggish. Low enough on the asset log that Chien won’t even remember it exists.”

“And your crew?”

Zuko turned to him, golden eyes calm.

“You.”

Rin raised a brow. “You want me piloting the damn thing?”

“You said you missed the sea.”

“I said I missed getting paid to punch people on the sea. Not navigating leaky crates through contested waters.”

Zuko leaned closer. “I trust you. That hasn’t changed.”

Rin grunted but didn’t argue.

They worked in silence for another few minutes. Zuko scanned the logs again, making minor adjustments to his transit calculations, double-checking harbor tides. Rin shifted between crates and drew out a stubby charcoal pencil to begin charting a potential escape route should things go wrong.

Then Rin spoke without looking up.

“So what do you want the cover to be?”

Zuko stood straight. “I’m assuming command of Tutanaki indefinitely. Emergency reassignment by royal discretion.”

“Emergency… for what?”

Zuko raised a brow. “The base is operating at forty percent efficiency. That’s a threat to national security.”

Rin grinned. “You’re starting to sound like your old man.”

“Don’t insult me.”

They shared a brief laugh before falling into a more comfortable rhythm, one that had become second nature over the years. Zuko issued, Rin adjusted. Rin questioned, Zuko justified. The layers formed quickly, believably. By the time Chien’s report filters reached Kuvak or the palace, they would show a Crown Prince dutifully correcting a neglected outpost.

No one would suspect he’d sailed west into contested waters alone.

And certainly not to Kyoshi.

Not yet.

Zuko circled the table once more, arms folded.

“We leave at midnight,” he said finally.

“Just the two of us?” Rin asked again, half out of instinct.

“I’ll bring a single guard from the base. One I can vet directly.”

Rin nodded. “And what about Ensign Misa? She’s already suspicious of something.”

Zuko considered it. “She’s sharp, but young. If we leave before the next duty cycle and I make her head communications for the base, she’ll be too busy managing Chien’s chaos to notice I’m gone.”

“She’ll notice eventually.”

Zuko’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Eventually is fine. By then, I’ll already be in Kyoshi. And by the time they’re ready to send word north…”

“…you’ll already be back.”

They both looked at the sea, visible through the narrow slits in the steel window. It shimmered beneath a brightening sky, calm and endless.

Zuko’s voice was quiet when he spoke next.

“This is where it begins.”

Rin didn’t ask what this meant. He didn’t need to.

He just nodded. “Tonight, then.”

---

Night fell over Tutanaki without ceremony.

The moon hung low and wide over the eastern horizon, a pale coin flickering beneath the haze of coastal mist. Fog clung to the docks in long gray fingers, curling around the metal hulls and whispering between rusted posts. The waves lapped gently against the stone quay, the wind too lazy to stir.

The base, for once, was still.

Inside the command post, the night watch had been rotated. Half the garrison was off-duty, and the others had been strategically assigned to interior posts, storehouse inventories, fuel monitoring, bunk quarter rotations. The only ones near the harbor were two bored dockhands sipping boiled radish broth and grumbling about night air.

Zuko moved through the corridor with measured silence.

He wore a hooded sea cloak over dark leather armor, standard officer cut, but stripped of sigils or ranking. The folds of the cloak swayed only slightly with each step, his boots muffled against the steel.

Behind him, Rin followed, similarly dressed in utilitarian black, his hair tied back in a loose knot beneath his hood. No armor, no sword. Just a long dagger sheathed across his back and a coil of rope slung over one shoulder.

The two of them moved like smoke.

They emerged through a low side door near the barracks loading ramp. No guards. No alarms. Just the ocean and the fog.

Vessel #12, a squat, outdated signal skiff, sat bobbing just beyond the first dock slip, tethered to a cleat with a fraying rope and half-submerged oar rack. Her once-red hull had faded to an iron-gray rust, and her engine stack listed slightly to port. She looked miserable.

“She’s hideous,” Rin muttered.

“Perfect,” Zuko replied.

They reached the skiff without being seen. Zuko climbed aboard first, his boots barely thudding on the deck, then turned to catch a supply pack that Rin tossed his way. Inside: dried rations, a flask of distilled water, three signal flares, a weather-stitched map, and a compass. Minimal. Intentional.

Rin untied the mooring and stepped aboard after him, drawing the rope inside.

The vessel groaned once beneath their weight, then steadied.

“Engine’s loud when it starts,” Rin whispered.

Zuko crouched by the control panel and began priming the ignition. “Push off. Let’s drift to the current for twenty meters. Then start it.”

Rin nodded and braced himself against the pier. With a gentle push, the skiff slipped away from the dock, joining the water like it had never belonged to land. The fog swallowed them within seconds.

They moved silently, ghosting past the patrol towers and comm antennae. No horns. No lanterns. Only the lapping tide and the creak of the hull.

Zuko crouched low near the bow, eyes narrowed at the mist ahead. He counted each breath. Each second.

At twenty meters out, Rin crouched beside the engine. He turned the crank gently, once, twice, then engaged the priming lever.

The engine sputtered, coughed once… and held.

A low hum buzzed through the hull. Quiet. Muted.

Rin looked up, eyebrows raised. “Huh. That actually worked.”

Zuko gave him a look. “Have some faith.”

“I do. In well-maintained things. Not this iron bathtub.”

The fog thickened, and the silhouette of Tutanaki’s outer wall faded into a jagged blur behind them. No alarm sounded. No lights shifted. No voices called out.

They were gone before anyone knew they’d left.

Zuko sat at the skiff’s helm, adjusting the tiller with careful hands.

“You know your heading?” Rin asked.

Zuko tapped the compass on the panel. “Straight east-southeast. Follow the inner island trail for five hours, then cross open water for ten hours or so. We should reach Kyoshi by late afternoon.”

Rin sank onto a crate beside the engine panel and rolled his shoulders. “I still say we’re insane.”

“You’ve said that about every mission.”

“And I’ve been right about at least half of them.”

Zuko smirked faintly, but didn’t reply.

They sailed for several long minutes without speaking. The fog curled along the water like a second sea, muffling the outside world. Zuko kept his gaze fixed ahead, his hands steady on the controls, his mind already moving toward Kyoshi.

Toward Jee.

Toward Lee.

Toward what needed to be set in motion next.

Behind him, Rin shifted and reached into the supply crate.

“You want water?” he asked.

“No,” Zuko said. “You drink. I’m fine.”

Rin took a sip, wiped his mouth, and leaned back.

“Y’know,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded, “it’s nights like this I remember why I stuck around. That feeling. When it’s just us and the mission. No pomp. No spies. No royals breathing down our necks.”

Zuko didn’t turn. “You miss the exile?”

Rin shrugged. “Parts of it.”

Zuko was silent for a long time.

Then: “We’re still exiled. They just gave us fancier robes.”

The fog thinned slightly as the skiff broke into wider water, the wind picking up just enough to send ripples across the waves. Stars flickered faintly above, hidden behind drifting cloudbanks.

Zuko’s hands stayed steady.

The current was with them now.

They would reach Kyoshi by noon.

And once they did, the real work would begin.

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