The Fire Nation Prince

Chapter 17: A Future Enemy

The sea was black velvet under a bruised sky as the small paddle boat scraped back up against the side of the pirate flagship.

Wind rocked the larger vessel gently, its tattered sails swaying like the wings of carrion birds, each one hanging limp in the breathless dusk. The anchor still held firm in the deeper shoal, and only a few of the deckhands lingered topside—most had already assumed their captain’s excursion would last longer. They were wrong.

From above, two lookouts peered over the edge, and the moment they caught sight of the returning skiff, they froze mid-breath.

Captain Tsu stood in the bow, one hand gripping the scorched remains of his sword hilt, the other clenched so tight around the rail that the wood cracked. His massive frame was coiled in fury, and though he said nothing as the hoist net dropped down to receive them, the sheer weight of his presence sent a ripple of fear down to every crewman within eyesight.

No one spoke.

No one dared.

Even the brutes behind him, now quiet as statues, moved with exaggerated care, as if loud footfalls alone might set their captain off.

Irah followed at his captain’s side, jaw tense, his gloved hands resting idly at his belt, but his eyes sharp. He said nothing. Didn’t need to. The tremor of contained heat in the air, the residual heat of that impossible flame still clung to their skin and clothes. It hadn’t cooled. Not fully.

As Tsu reached the deck, a group of deckhands began to approach…

“Back off.”

It wasn’t yelled.

But it didn’t need to be.

The words came out with such force that the air itself seemed to hesitate. The pirates scattered, heads down, none daring to look at his hands, or his face.

Tsu didn’t even glance at them.

He stomped across the planks, boots ringing like war drums. His broad shoulders cleared the path ahead of him. The ship’s deck groaned beneath his weight as he reached the iron stairs that led down into the hull.

Irah followed without a word.

They descended.

Down past the main gun deck, past the mess hall. Past the rows of hanging hammocks and supply crates, each one rattling slightly as the ship adjusted with the waves.

The hallway toward the captain’s quarters was dim, lit only by oil lanterns bolted into the walls. Their flickering orange light cast long shadows behind the two men, one a furnace of rage, the other a blade sheathed in silence.

The hallway was lined with trophies. Half-sunk helms, swords rusted into hooks, an old map nailed to a door with a dagger through a cursed island name. Tsu ignored them all.

He reached his door and shoved it open hard enough to make the hinges scream.

Inside, the captain’s quarters were exactly as unpolished as expected. Wide, cluttered, and stinking of old sweat and gunpowder. A thick table in the center was stained with ink and rum, covered in a half-scorched map of the eastern sea. A hanging lantern rocked from the ceiling beam above, illuminating the curved walls of the ship’s bow. A simple cot, unmade. A shelf of knives in a tangled display of “decorative chaos.” A broken flute lay in a corner near a pair of cracked boots.

Tsu stormed in, growling under his breath.

“Shut that damn door.”

Irah stepped inside behind him, not flinching.

He shut it. Quietly. No slam. Just the click of the latch.

Tsu dropped the burnt saber hilt onto the table with a loud clatter. Then, finally letting the pain crawl across his expression, he grabbed his burned hand and pulled back the strap of leather that had melted into the skin.

The flesh underneath was raw, blistered, ringed in black scorch marks. Parts of the strap had fused into the tissue, creating grotesque ridges where skin and sword had become one. The back of his knuckles had split. Steam still curled faintly from the surface.

“Give me that damn bucket,” he growled.

Irah didn’t ask.

He’d already brought it in, a metal pail half-filled with cool seawater, drawn fresh minutes ago, before they boarded. No words, no ceremony.

He set it down in front of the chair.

Tsu wasted no time.

He dropped into the seat with a grunt of pain and plunged both hands into the water.

The reaction was immediate.

A hiss, like steel dipped into a forge. The surface of the water shivered, not from heat, but something more. For a moment, Tsu’s eyes fluttered, the pain dulling as the shock of cold wrapped around the nerves.

His body leaned back, jaw unclenching slightly.

Relief. Raw and honest. His mouth parted in a breath that he didn’t know he was holding.

Then his body adapted.

And the pain came back.

Sharper now.

He didn’t scream.

Didn’t groan.

Just breathed. Deep. Even.

The veins in his neck pulsed visibly.

And then…

A flicker.

The water glowed.

Just for two seconds.

A faint blue shimmer, deep and soft, spread across the top of the pail like a silk sheet pulled over the surface. It didn’t ripple. It didn’t shine.

It pulsed.

Then it vanished.

As if it had never been there.

Tsu pulled his hands out slowly.

His eyes dropped.

The skin was whole.

No burns. No blisters. No melted leather.

Just flesh. Clean. Smooth.

Perfect.

He flexed his fingers once.

No pain.

Irah leaned in slightly, his voice under his breath. “...Astonishing.”

He had seen it before. He had watched Tsu use this... gift once, when they lost two crewmates to a firebending ambush on Whale Skull Isle. He had assumed it was a trick. An illusion. Or rare medicine.

But now?

There had been no herbs. No chants. No scrolls.

Just pain.

And then healing.

Waterbending.

And not the kind that was taught in Northern tribes.

No forms. No discipline. No meditative grace.

This was primal. Ancient. Like the sea itself healing its own wound.

Tsu exhaled and sat back fully into the chair. One boot kicked the doorframe behind him in frustration.

Silence hung for a moment.

Then, cold, clear command:

“Our next move’s already been decided.”

Irah looked at him, eyes steady.

“If the boy prince thinks he can play king on an island full of fishermen and paint-wearing girls, he’s got another thing coming,” Tsu spat. “You saw what he was doing. The ship. That wasn’t a display. That was an exit.”

Irah tilted his head slightly. “You think he was leaving?”

“I know he was. Our little visit interrupted it. He wasn’t expecting us.”

“That little junk skiff?” Irah scoffed. “You can’t be serious, Captain. He has access to fleets. Command of warships. That thing couldn’t ferry a funeral.”

“That’s the point,” Tsu snapped. “He didn’t want anyone to know he was leaving. No flags. Little to no crew. Just enough metal and engine to slip away. Quiet. Unseen.”

Irah leaned forward, arms crossed. “So he’s hiding something.”

Tsu grunted. “He’s hiding everything. The island. The marriages. The fleet. That fire.”

He flexed his healed hand. His eyes didn’t match the calm in his voice.

“If he’s willing to risk sneaking out under our nose, he’s not heading to a parade. He’s going somewhere he doesn’t want the world to follow.”

“And he won’t leave with us sitting right off his coast,” Irah muttered.

Tsu nodded.

“No. He’ll wait. Pretend to sleep. Let his guards laugh and drink. Then when the night star’s high, he’ll leave. And that’s when we move.”

Irah’s voice dropped. “You want us to follow him.”

“I want to know where he goes. Who he meets. What he’s planning.”

Irah gave a quiet breath of respect. “And after that?”

Tsu’s grin returned, barely.

“Then we decide what kind of king he really is.”

***

The sky had turned to glass.

No moon. No clouds. Just the cold shimmer of a few thousand stars, scattered like shattered bone across the vast dome of the heavens. The sea below was mirror-dark, gentle in the way that made men nervous, too calm, like it was listening.

The small metal ship creaked as it cut across the water, its engine low, barely more than a faint grumble beneath the waves. The vessel was just large enough for its four passengers and a few crates tucked near the engine housing. No markings. No flags. Even its exhaust stack had been dampened to reduce visibility. Just smoke swallowed by the night and the smell of salt.

Zuko stood at the bow, his arms crossed, wind teasing his loose hair. The stars glittered above him, but he didn’t look up. His gaze was fixed ahead, on the void where the horizon had yet to take shape.

Rin leaned against the side rail, peering into the distance with squinted eyes. The man’s brow furrowed, lips pursed, his instinct twitching.

Then: “We’ve got company.”

Zuko didn’t react. He didn’t need to.

Lee, seated cross-legged near the navigation console, didn’t look up from the map in his lap. “Company? Define parameters.”

“Rear arc, long range. Maybe two klicks behind us,” Rin muttered. “No lights. But I saw the wake. Whoever it is, they’re trailing with purpose.”

Lee finally looked up. “Speculation?”

“It’s Tsu,” Zuko answered calmly.

Even the sea seemed to pause for a beat.

Hinaro looked up from her seat near the engine housing, frowning. “How do you know?”

Zuko still didn’t turn. “Because it’s not about the island anymore.”

His voice was quiet, but definite. “Back on that beach, I didn’t humiliate a pirate. I humiliated a legend. He didn’t take that saber swing for gold. He took it for ego. That kind of wound festers.”

Lee adjusted his collar, eyes narrowing. “His grudge is personal. Fixated. That would redirect his priorities, away from the island, toward the individual source of the perceived injury.”

Rin nodded, looking off into the dark again. “So he’s following you.”

Zuko nodded once. “Exactly.”

“Should we lose him?” Rin asked.

“We can’t,” Zuko said simply. “Not in this worthless piece of crap.”

He thumped the edge of the ship’s outer hull with the side of his fist. It rattled slightly in response.

“This thing isn’t built for speed. It’s built for silence. And subtlety.”

“Then what do we do?” Hinaro asked, rising and moving toward the front. “Just let him tail us?”

Zuko finally turned to look at them all.

“Let him follow,” he said, voice cool. “Within a few hours, thanks to Lee’s navigational shortcut, we’ll be arriving back at Tutanaki. No one the wiser that we ever left.”

Lee adjusted the ring on his index finger with methodical calm. “According to my calculations, we are now thirty-eight nautical minutes ahead of where we would be, had we taken the primary route. I anticipate we will complete the full crossing in under eight hours total, a significant improvement over your twenty yesterday.”

He tapped the corner of his map. “I took the liberty of re-charting the tidal flows using archived ferry routes abandoned during the Great Siege. Their current patterns remain viable for stealth navigation.”

Rin smirked. “Which means Zuko’s gamble worked.”

Zuko’s eyes drifted back to the horizon. “It always does.”

But then, Hinaro’s voice cut the air again.

“I still don’t get it.”

Zuko turned his eyes just enough to show he was listening.

Hinaro didn’t hold back. “That fireball. That… sun. Whatever it was. It could’ve destroyed them. That ship. His crew. Probably all five of them at once.”

She took a step forward, hands on her hips, the breeze tugging at the hem of her borrowed fire-nation field uniform.

“So why didn’t you use it?”

Zuko looked at her.

He said nothing.

Not a word.

Just smiled.

A small, cool, unreadable smile.

And turned away again.

That silence cracked something in her chest.

“Damn you.” she spat. “You smug, manipulative…”

“Enough.”

Lee’s voice snapped like a whip.

Not loud.

Not sharp.

But final.

Hinaro turned on him, rage lighting in her eyes, but stopped.

The way he looked at her…

It wasn’t cold.

It wasn’t mocking.

It was…

Terrifying.

Like looking into the eyes of someone who had done the math, counted the cost, and still said yes to fire.

Lee spoke slowly, with each word cut from polished obsidian.

“That is the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation. Heir to the Phoenix Throne. Do not mistake his silence for surrender. Or his restraint for mercy.”

His voice dropped further.

“Do not mistake his kindness for patience.”

Hinaro’s breath caught.

Lee wasn’t done.

“You speak because you are afraid of what you don’t understand. But fear is not license. Not on this ship. Not on this sea.”

He leaned forward slightly.

“And certainly not in front of the one who built the sun that still lingers in your bones.”

She didn’t answer.

Not this time.

The cold weight of his words anchored her.

Even the wind seemed to keep its distance.

Rin watched the whole exchange in silence. His eyes drifted back to the water, but the thoughts behind them had grown heavier.

Hinaro’s question echoed in his head.

Why didn’t he destroy them?

That fireball, whatever the hell it really was, had been massive. Controlled. Balanced in the sky like it had waited for orders. He’d seen it. Felt it.

Rin remembered standing behind Zuko, the fire still in his knuckles, body tensed and ready to launch himself into a war.

But Zuko hadn’t given the order.

He’d stared Tsu down. Let him walk. Left a living rival who could easily become a bigger threat later.

Why?

The question sat in Rin’s gut like a stone.

The wind tugged at the sail lines.

The sea whispered nothing.

And still… no answers.

There were parts of the prince’s plans, goals, visions, that none of them had been shown.

Would they ever be?

He wasn’t sure.

He glanced back at Hinaro, who now stood silent near the starboard rail. Her fire hadn’t dimmed but something inside had shifted.

Even she felt it.

They all did.

Time passed.

Hours blurred together into dark, cold quiet. The stars wheeled slowly overhead. No words were exchanged after that. Just the soft thrum of the engine, the gentle slap of the waves, and the endless stretch of night.

Lee adjusted course as they moved through a deep pass between two sleeping reef columns. Rin kept watch behind them. Hinaro stood apart. Zuko stayed at the bow.

No one had slept.

They didn’t need to.

The tension was enough to keep them wide awake.

And then, just past the eighth hour, Lee’s voice finally broke the silence.

“Landfall ahead.”

All eyes turned forward.

Through the veil of starlight and shadows, a familiar jagged outline began to rise from the waterline.

Dark cliffs.

Low towers.

The angular rise of watch-huts and the smoke stacks of Tutanaki’s industrial harbor.

“Just like I said,” Zuko murmured, eyes narrowing.

“We were never gone.”

[A/N: Read 15 to 20 chapters ahead available right now on .com/saiyanprincenovels.com.]