The Fire Nation Prince

Chapter 111: The Siege of the North

A silence as deep as the ocean floor lay upon the command deck of the Inferno’s Heart. It was not a peaceful silence. It was the quiet of a drawn blade, of a held breath, of a predator in the final moments before the pounce. The only sounds were the groan of the massive ironclad cutting through the black water and the faint, mournful cry of the wind.

Prince Zuko stood on the forward balcony, his hands resting on the carved railing, his knuckles pale. The cold was a physical presence, a biting enemy his inner fire constantly fought back. Before him, at the edge of the world, lay his objective.

The Wall of the Northern Water Tribe.

It was not a wall of stone, but of living, ancient ice. A sheer, impossible cliff of white that stretched from one horizon to the other, soaring hundreds of feet into the air, its peak lost in the low-hanging polar mist. It was a monument to defiance, a statement of permanence in a world he was dedicated to reshaping with fire and will. The weak polar light glinted off its myriad facets, making it look as if it were studded with a billion tiny diamonds. It was beautiful. He intended to break it.

His gaze, sharp and calculating, swept to the right, then to the left. On either side of the Inferno’s Heart, stretching out in a vast, disciplined crescent, was his armada. Dozens of ships. Ironclad battleships, sleek cruisers, hulking troop transports. Their black hulls were a stain against the grey sea, their funnels belching the dark, tarry smoke that now fell as snow upon the city beyond. A forest of masts and towers, a city of war floating on the water, its singular purpose aimed at the heart of the white wall.

He had been waiting for a very long time.

The thought was a quiet ember in his mind. He had waited through the political maneuvering in Caldera, the careful consolidation of power, the humiliation of Azula, the gathering of this fleet. He had waited through the long, slow voyage north, a journey that felt less like travel and more like the drawing back of a bowstring. He had waited through a lifetime in a body not entirely his own, through the ghost of another boy’s pain and his own cold ambition, twined together into something new.

And now, the waiting was over.

The door to the balcony slid open with a soft hiss. Vice Admiral Takeda, a veteran with a face like worn leather and eyes that had seen too much fire, stepped out and stood at a respectful distance to his Prince’s left.

”The forward scouts report no movement on the outer defenses, Your Highness,” Takeda’s voice was a low rumble, respectful but devoid of the sycophancy Zuko despised. ”They are sealed tight. A turtle-seal couldn’t get through.”

Zuko did not turn. ”They are waiting. They have had time to prepare.”

”Let them,” Takeda replied, a grim confidence in his tone. ”Their walls are high, but our will is higher. They have ice. We have fire. The math is simple.”

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Zuko’s lips. It did not reach his eyes. ”Is it, Vice Admiral? They have the Avatar.”

Takeda shifted, the only sign of his discomfort. ”A child.”

”A child who entered the Avatar State and vaporized Firebase Kaze,” Zuko countered, his voice flat. ”Do not underestimate him. That is a mistake I will not make twice.”

He had let Aang escape twice. It had been a calculated move, a gambit to flush out spies and test loyalties, to position himself for a greater prize. But he had seen the raw, untamed power that resided within the boy. He would not underestimate it again.

”Of course, Your Highness,” Takeda conceded. ”The plan remains unchanged? The ’Sunbreaker’ maneuver at dawn?”

Zuko’s gaze remained fixed on the wall. In his mind’s eye, he did not see ice. He saw the intricate web of canals and towers within. He saw the Spirit Oasis, its waters glowing with potential. He saw a princess with hair like moonlight, a key to a different kind of power. He saw a waterbender with eyes of stormy blue, who had looked at him with a mixture of fear and a defiance that intrigued the part of him that was still Victor Crane.

The public conquest was for his father, for the Fleet, for history books. The private mission was for himself.

”The plan is unchanged,” Zuko confirmed, his voice dropping to a near whisper, meant only for the Vice Admiral and the wind. ”At my signal, the fleet will engage the outer defenses. Draw their attention. Keep their benders occupied at the wall.”

”And you, Prince Zuko?”

Zuko finally turned his head, his good eye catching the distant reflection of the ice. In its golden depths, Takeda saw not the fire of battle-lust, but the cold, patient light of absolute certainty.

”I,” Zuko said, ”will be paying a visit to their heart. They are looking at a fleet. They are preparing for a siege.”

He turned fully back to the wall, his silhouette a stark black against the grim, ashen sky.

”They are not prepared for a single man who knows how to walk through walls.”

Zuko’s hand, which had been resting calmly on the railing, lifted. It was not a dramatic, sweeping gesture. It was a simple, raised fist, held high for a moment against the stark backdrop of the ice wall.

On the signal deck of the Inferno’s Heart, a flag officer barked an order. A sequence of crimson flags, stark against the grey sky, snapped in the wind. The message was relayed down the line, ship to ship, a wave of silent command.

For three heartbeats, nothing happened. The world held its breath.

Then, the silence was murdered.

THWOOM. THWOOM. THWOOM.

The deep, percussive groan of dozens of massive catapults firing in near-unison rolled across the water, a sound more felt than heard. It was the drumbeat of annihilation.

A moment later, the sky itself caught fire.

From the decks of the Fire Nation armada, a swarm of flaming boulders arced into the air. They were like a meteor shower born from hell, trailing thick, black smoke, their cores blazing with orange and white fury. They climbed, impossibly high, seeming to hang for a moment at their apex against the pale sky before beginning their terrible, descending journey.

Their target was not the base of the immense wall that would be futile. Their target was the sky above it.

Zuko watched, his expression unchanging, a statue of grim purpose. This was not the main assault. This was the prelude. The prologue written in fire.

The first of the projectiles cleared the towering wall. It became a falling star, plummeting into the heart of the city he could not yet see. A distant, muffled CRUMP echoed back across the water, followed by a blossoming flower of fire and a rising plume of black smoke from within the city.

Then another. And another.

The air filled with the symphony of destruction. The relentless THWOOM of the launch, the shrieking whistle of the projectiles in flight, and the thunderous, rolling impacts from within the Northern Water Tribe. Flaming debris was tossed high enough to be visible over the wall, scattering embers and terror.

Inside the city, it would be chaos. The precise, ordered canals and elegant ice structures would be shattered. Fires, a rare and terrifying phenomenon for a city of ice and water, would be sprouting like poisonous weeds. The waterbenders, who should be focused on the wall and the sea, would be forced to turn inward, fighting the flames, rescuing the trapped, scrambling to put out the blazes. It would disorganize them. It would spread their strength thin. It would sow panic.

Vice Admiral Takeda watched the fiery rain with a savage satisfaction. ”Let them drown in their own element while they burn,” he muttered.

Zuko said nothing. He simply observed the effectiveness of the barrage, his mind already leagues ahead, past the wall, past the chaos, moving with a singular, chilling focus towards the Spirit Oasis. The flaming sky was merely a distraction.

The real attack had not yet begun.